A Buddy's Troubles
by storyfan101
Summary: Michael doesn't mind  too much  when they help Sam's buddies with their trouble.  Its just the trouble with the buddies that he could do without.
1. Chapter 1

As usual, I owe so much to Purdy's Pal for reading through this chapter. I was also lucky enough to borrow Amanda Hawthorne's attention for a quick question or two. Thanks ladies. You're awesome.

Thanks to everyone else for their time in reading. I hope to make it worth your while.

**A Buddy's Troubles**

**Chapter 1**

"Here you go, Sam," Marissa held out a longish slip of paper.

Sam took the week long tab with a sigh. He only glanced at the total and pulled out his wallet.

"Aren't you going to look it over?" Marissa, Sam's favourite waitress at Carlito's, asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting there's something not right with this bill?"

Marissa fidgeted and looked over Sam's shoulder, "Nothing's wrong with your tab…exactly."

Stretching out the bill in his hands, Sam gave it a cursory glance. "It looks okay. There's five days worth of visits; including Mike's ice tea and Fi's Bloody Mary."

"You know about the Bloody Mary? I thought…" Marissa stammered, confused.

Sam laughed at her discomfort. "You were worried I was paying for someone else's bill?"

Marissa nodded her head, looking slightly embarrassed, but admitting, "I know you guys are friends and all, but Fiona said it was okay to add that to your bill after you had already left."

Sam waved away her concerns with a smile. "I can't complain about one Bloody Mary, when I've added an order of fish tacos to her bill for the past three weeks. She must have finally figured out it wasn't Mike."

"You guys," Marissa shook her head and laughed as she walked away from Sam's table to give him time to sort out his payment.

Sam couldn't hide his smile as he thumbed through the twenties in his wallet, but paused when he heard a deep voice calling out his name. Before he could turn around, two beefy hands grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him out of his chair. With his arms hanging limply at his sides, Sam was caught in a tight bear-hug. This was followed by two hefty back slaps that would have been powerful enough to dislodge a whole burrito, had he been choking.

Sam wasn't a small man, and he hadn't thought of himself as a powerless man, but he was unable to save himself from what was becoming an embarrassing position. Finally, he was released from the bear-hug and held at arm's length from a well-muscled man wearing dark suit pants and a short sleeved, button down shirt.

"Wow! Sam Axe! Let me take a look't ya."

While the man was looking him over, Sam was hoping to get some clues of his own. The trident tattoo showing through the light color of the man's shirt told him to think back to his SEAL days. For the life of him, Sam was still drawing a blank.

"You okay, Sam?" the man pulled back and frowned, his face a mask of concern; most likely brought on by the fight-or-flight look that gradually faded from Sam's face to be replaced by a dubious frown.

Sam hesitated, "Stoney?"

The grin returned to Stoney's face and he slapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam felt no shame in taking a half step to roll with the blow, and keep from falling into the table. "What's it been? About twenty five years?"

Rubbing his sore shoulder, Sam did some quick calculations in his head, "Twenty four, but who's counting? You been working out that whole time?"

Stoney gave a loud guffaw. "Always the same."

Sam sat down and indicated an empty chair for Stoney to join him. "You have time for a beer? Tell me what brings you to Miami. I'd almost guess you're here on leave."

Stoney's physique was well defined and toned. Indeed he did look like he could still be pulling active duty as a Navy SEAL. Sam kept from checking his own biceps, well aware that the last four years had been spent in serious research of the perfect mojito and the comfiest resort chair. He was as well rested and relaxed as a man could be who had Michael Westen as a best friend.

Sam waved his hand, "Two more, Marissa."

"Sure thing, Sam," Marissa smiled as she went to the bar to grab their drinks.

Sam turned his attention back to Stoney and enquired with a friendly, "So?"

Stoney gave a small laugh, "I'm no longer in the service. I left years ago and went private. Hours aren't much better, but the pay…," Stoney grinned up to the sky, lifting his hands up as if exalting God. He looked back at Sam, grinning from ear to ear, "Government contracts are much better when you're the signee rather than the minion carrying them out."

"Contracts?" Sam asked cautiously. "What business are you in?"

"Personal Security," Stoney paused to accept a cold bottle of beer from Marissa with a nod of thanks.

Sam exchanged several twenties for his bottle. "Should be enough to cover this and my tab."

"Sure thing, Sam, thanks," Marissa started to walk away, but paused to add, "Just holler if you want to start on next week's tab."

"Not today. I promised a friend I'd be stopping by this afternoon." Sam answered.

Sam looked at his beer and knew he wasn't about to drink it. He needed to stay sharp and find out more about Stoney's contract work. He checked his watch. He told Mike before lunch that he'd stop by the loft later. After this conversation it would definitely be later.

"So you're into personal security? Government contracts? Sounds interesting," Sam carefully plied for information.

"Yeah? Interesting doesn't begin to cover it," Stoney raised an eyebrow and took a drink. "That's actually why I'm here in Miami."

"Oh?" Sam hoped he came across as '_friendly'_ interested and not '_protecting my friends from the government_' interested. He pretended to take a drink from his beer. What could be more friendly than two ex Navy SEALs sitting, having a drink?

Stoney nodded his head, "I had a gig go bad. I'm here trying to rectify that."

Sam let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. A current gig going bad couldn't have anything to do with a spy burned three years ago or his ex-IRA girlfriend living in Miami illegally for that same time. Sam took an honest to goodness drink.

"What happened? Or is it all hush-hush?" Sam asked, settling into more of a buddy mood.

Stoney leaned back in his chair. "I fell in love with a client. Her father runs a small wind engineering company that just had a major technological breakthrough." Stoney began picking at the label on his beer bottle. He took a moment before looking Sam in the eye, "If I had kept things strictly professional, I wouldn't have gotten so careless." Stoney gave a sigh, full of self derision. "You know what it's like, being a SEAL. We're indestructible. We rule the roost."

Sam didn't remember it that way. Without too much effort, his muscles recalled the stress of planning and exercising; doing everything possible in running your unit so you got the job done and got everyone out alive. Then again, Ginger 'Stoney' Breakstone had only been with him for a very short period of time, back in the 80's, before Sam received a field promotion and was sent scurrying off to another unit with other demands. Sam didn't know which unit leaders and commanders Stoney had after he had moved on. Lord knows, Sam met more than his fair share of men who ruled according to rhetoric instead of actual experience.

"So you fell in love and thought you could protect the client without any back up?" Sam guessed.

Stoney nodded. "Rita Avnet was kidnapped. The scum that took her are using her as leverage, to make her father give up the technology."

"He's received a ransom note? I take it you're here to see to the exchange?" Sam felt honest to goodness concern over where this conversation was going.

Stoney shook his head, "Rita's father found out about us. He blames me for this whole situation. He's right, too," Stoney swiped at his eyes. He picked up a napkin from the table and blew his nose. "Allergies, you know?" His sniffed before turning his head to cough, hiding his embarrassment.

Sam put a comforting hand on Stoney's shoulder. "What's your plan? Who knows you're here?"

Stoney turned to look at Sam. His emotions back under control, "I did some digging before coming down here. I know who has Rita. I'm going to get her back and make sure her father doesn't have to lose his business. Once I have Rita safe, I know her father can make a deal and they'll be made to pay."

Sam didn't like the tone this was taking. "A deal to make them pay? Who are 'they' and what are they paying?"

Stoney gave Sam a knowing look, "The Russians, Sam. You know the Russians, they don't play nice, but without Rita as leverage, her father can keep his patents and the Russians will have no choice but to legally license the technology. It'll be worth millions, and I'll be back in the old man's good books. And I'll get Rita back," he sighed. "It's win-win all around. Even the Russians get something out of this deal. They'd have the first contract for this new wind technology. From Siberia alone, they'd make billions from energy they could sell to neighbouring countries like China."

"It has to be Russians?" Sam quietly muttered, downing the last of his beer.

"What was that, Sam?" Stoney asked. At Sam's wry look, Stoney tried to explain, "Look, I know it sounds bad, but it'll be okay. I'll track down where they're holding Rita and pull her out before anyone even knows I'm here. What? What are you trying to say?"

Sam had been shaking his head as soon as Stoney started defending himself, "After Moscow and St. Petersburg, Miami has the highest population of Russian mafia anywhere in the world. You're not going to get Rita out without help." Sam smiled.

Stoney looked confused and angry. "Why are you smiling? This isn't good, Sam. What am I supposed to do?"

Sam placed a hand on Stoney's shoulder as he stood up. "I've got some friends that can help."

Stoney looked ready to argue, but Sam stopped him, "We do this a lot. You'll like the results."

"We should ask your friends first. This sounds like it could get dangerous pretty fast," Stoney made to get up and follow Sam out of Carlito's, but Sam pushed him back down into his chair, pleased he didn't require a sledge hammer to assist him.

"It takes a certain panache in asking, but they're in. Don't worry. Just give me a number where I can reach you after I've got things sorted."

"The ol' Sam Axe charm, is it?" Stoney sighed, but seemed to relax at the possibility of help. He waved Marissa the waitress over to borrow a pen. He wrote down his hotel and room number on a napkin, which he handed to Sam.

"Blue Moon Resort? Nice. I'll call you there before dinner." With that, Sam headed out to his car.

As Sam's car drove out of view, Stoney called Marissa back to the table. "I'd like one more beer please. I have a feeling my time in Miami is only going to get more interesting."


	2. Chapter 2

All the usual disclaimers apply.

Many thanks to Purdy's Pal for her patience. I'm so glad you're still willing to read over my 'stuff'. No matter how long it takes me to get it to you.

Thanks to everyone reading. I appreciate your time.

**A/N** - This version of Sam's story is based on the one he told to Tony in season 4 - Made Man. Thanks to Amanda Hawthorn and Purdy's Pal for their help in fleshing it out.

**Chapter 2**

"Hey Mike! I come bearing gifts," Sam entered the loft holding a loaded grocery bag in front of him.

"Isn't there a saying 'beware the ex-Navy SEAL who comes bearing gifts'?" Fiona goaded from her perch on the end of the mattress that was Michael's bed. She put down the Guns 'N Ammo magazine she had been leafing through to come peek through the grocery bag.

Sam pulled the bag away from Fiona's prying fingers. "That's Greeks, Fi. More specifically, Trojans." Sam paused long enough to close the loft door. "Besides which, I'm a descendant of Robert the Bruce of Scotland. Very noble character."

Fiona snorted indelicately, "The Loch Ness monster, is more likely."

Sam chose to ignore Fiona and walked past her towards the small kitchen where Michael was puttering with some surveillance equipment. Sam placed the bag on the work table beside Michael's handiwork.

Michael, for the most part, was ignoring both of his guests. He casually pulled a wire out from under the grocery bag and continued working.

"Whatcha building there, Mikey?" Sam asked.

Without looking up, Michael answered, "A bug. You took the last one from my work bench for that job last week."

"I notice you were running a little low on our everyday supplies," Sam grinned.

Hoping to engage Michael into conversation, Sam asked, "I ever tell you about the time I led a fact finding mission into El Salvador in the 80's?"

What he got was a quick glance away from the miniature work before Michael lowered his head and went back to work with a non-committal sort of grunt.

Refusing to be daunted, Sam grinned and pushed on, "There were five of us; Virgil and Mack, who you know, Pete, Stoney and myself. We hadn't gotten far into country when the death squads got wind of us." Sam paused a moment, "Never did figure out how they locked onto us so fast." A quick shake of his head and he was back telling his story, "However they managed it, they found us and were trying to live up to their name."

By now, both Michael and Fiona were listening intently, although both made an effort not to look it. While they usually enjoyed Sam's stories, they didn't want that fact going to the man's head. Sam noticed the solder Michael was holding wasn't actually in use, and Fiona had gone back to pick up her magazine, but hadn't made any move to turn a page.

Sam smiled as he continued, "I found some cover for us, but my buddy Pete took a bullet to the spine before he could round the corner. We had an emergency evac chopper lined up, but there was no way Pete could make it five blocks, much less the five miles to the LZ outside of town." Memories flooding back made Sam stop his recital.

Michael, knowing there had to be a point to this unexpected burst of storytelling. He put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, "How did you make it out?"

The look in Michael's eyes showed he understood only too well that Sam would never leave a man behind to make a mad dash for his own safety. Sam gave a smile of gratitude. "Virgil took Mack and Stoney to the landing zone and got them out of that mess."

"Virgil?" Fiona asked, surprise clearly showing on her face.

"Yes, Virgil. Gee whiz, Fi. He wasn't always living in a swamp, repo-ing boats, you know." Sam reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer. After unscrewing the top, he took a long drink, downing half the bottle's contents.

"It's hard to consolidate the two images, that's all," Fiona shrugged. "I have a hard enough time picturing you in khaki's and running through the back water towns of the world."

"Funny," Sam glared, "I have no troubles what-so-ever picturing you racing through Belfast and blowing up half of Ireland."

"Guys!" Michael interrupted their verbal battle. "Sam, I assume there's a point, so finish your story."

With a quick wink at Fiona, Sam gave a small victorious smile. Fiona only 'hmmphed' and made her way over to the kitchen and started snooping through Sam's grocery bag, her eyes lighting up when she recognized the contents.

Not wanting his plans foiled, Sam pulled the bag away and stashed it inside the refrigerator, and continued his story, "Pete and I holed up in a church, living on holy water and communion wafers for a coupla days. After the rest of the unit made it back to HQ, they came back with some Blackhawks and air lifted Pete and me out. The rescue was just in time, too. We wouldn't have made it through another day. The death squads' search teams were close. They woulda found us in a few more hours."

Fiona hoped she wouldn't regret asking, but she needed to know, "What happened to Pete?"

Sam finished his beer and gave a dimpled grin, "Ended up on medical discharge. He went home, met this beautiful woman, got married and settled down. They have three kids. I'm godfather to his oldest. He's even named after me." He put down the empty bottle triumphantly.

"Who names their kid Jackass?" Fiona asked and wasn't surprised when both men gave her a hard look.

Sam, of course, had to add, "I suppose anyone named after you would be Trinitrotoluene?"

"Guys, enough," Michael snapped, but couldn't help thinking 'only Sam could come up with the full name of TNT and use it as an insult'.

Michael stepped between Sam and Fiona as he reached into his fridge, hoping to enforce a little space between them. Now that he had a moment, he pulled out one of four containers from the bag Sam had hidden away.

"Wow, Sam," Michael suddenly felt worried. "To what do I owe the honour?" He held up a 16 ounce container of Choboni Greek yogurt. "Blueberry. My favorite." Michael cracked the lid and pulled a spoon out from a drawer. He might as well enjoy some of it now, before the impending sales pitch from Sam about whatever case he was going to rope them into, did away with his appetite.

"Why do you assume…?" Sam began, but from Michael's resigned look he took a different route. "These guys, they saved my life, Mike."

Fiona grabbed Michael's spoon from his fingers and took a heaping scoop of the tasty treat. "We've already helped Virgil and Mack. What say you take Stoney and I'll go with Pete."

"Trying to win a Kewpie doll, Fi?" Michael asked, taking the spoon back and digging out another mouthful for himself. Michael finished with his turn and gave the spoon back to Fiona.

Accepting the spoon, and looking directly at Sam, she muttered, "Beats getting the boobie prize."

"I'll let that last comment slide if it means you'll help me out with Stoney's problem," Sam bartered. He watched Michael and Fiona as they shared another spoonful each of the deluxe yogurt.

"Why is it," Fiona started to ask, pointing the spoon she now held directly at Sam's chest, "These people save your life, and Michael and I end up repaying the favor?"

Sam smiled, knowing they were in, "I think it has to do with gratitude for how many times I've been there to save your lives."

Fiona was about to argue that fact, but Michael stepped in, "What's the problem, Sam?"

Sam shared the story he got from Stoney earlier that afternoon.

"His girlfriend was captured because he put their relationship before the job?" Fiona asked, giving Michael an 'Are You Paying Attention?' look.

Michael frowned, "He let himself get distracted and now his girlfriend's life is in danger."

"Once we rescue her, she won't have to wonder where she fits in his life!" Fiona retorted.

"Look," Sam held up his hand, putting a stop to the lover's spat, "I promised Stoney I'd get back to him, let him know we were going to help him."

Fiona still had some ire left, "Stoney? Who makes a child go through life with a name like that?"

Sam sighed, but answered, "I gave him that name."

"You?" Fiona looked aghast, wondering what the man could have done to deserve such an awful moniker.

"He's named after his great-grandfather, I think. Apparently the man made it into some government annuals, listed as Agent Breakstone." Sam rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't use the man's first name. I just couldn't bring myself to call for 'Ginger' while out in the field." Shaking his head over the imagined embarrassment, Sam headed out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

* * *

><p>Returning to the Blue Moon hotel after his meeting with Sam Axe, Stoney had paced back and forth burning off energy. Hoping to relax, he opened a bottle from the minibar and emptied it into a glass with ice. He took it out to the balcony, where he could enjoy it as he watched young people frolic around the pool. The phone rang from inside his suite. Stoney took a quick swallow, finishing off the bourbon. With a one last look to the people below, he went back in.<p>

Stoney checked his watch before answering, "Hello?...Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's gonna help…I don't know. He's got a team or somethin'….Look, everything is gonna be fine….Stop worrying. He said he'd help and Sam Axe won't let a buddy down….Yeah, I know what's at stake!"

Stoney slammed the phone receiver back into its cradle. "Damn government contracts. Better be worth it."

The phone rang again.

"Damn it! What now?" Stoney growled into the handset. The voice on the other end surprised him. "Sam! Hey man, I'm sorry. Just got off the phone with the boss….That's great, Sam! Just what I needed to hear right now….Tomorrow, nine AM at Carlito's? That's the place we met up today, right?...I'll be there. And Sam, I'm glad I ran into you today. You're a real life saver, man."

Stoney hung up the phone with a smile this time. Finally, things were going his way.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks, as usual, to Purdy's Pal for her time and patience with reading over my 'stuff'.

Thank you to everyone for reading. You certainly make writing more fun.

**Chapter 3  
><strong>

"Sam," Michael greeted his friend as he took his seat at their usual table in Carlito's. Noticing his red rimmed eyes and death grip on his coffee cup, Michael added, "You look…awake."

Deep brown eyes shifted upwards, but no other signs of recognition were forthcoming.

Picking up the tall glass of orange juice Michael assumed was ordered for him, he gave a thoughtful look.

"I haven't seen you looking this bad since that op in Eastern Germany."

After stirring another raw sugar packet into his coffee and taking a taste test, Sam leaned back in his chair still holding onto his liquid life line, "I don't remember much of that one."

Michael laughed softly at the memory, "Not too surprising. You barely slept. You knew you were expected to take sniper duty, but you still weaseled your way into the planning and organizing stage."

"Hey," Sam sounded affronted with the description of past events. "I never weaseled. It's all charm and abilities, brother," he grinned good-naturedly.

"Like you said, you don't remember too much of that op," Michael teased, but the remainder of the memory soured his mood. "I still owe you for pulling my butt out of that fire. You were responsible for a lot of good men making it back that day."

Sam shrugged, modestly hiding behind his coffee cup while he took a long drink. "What I remember is getting a lot of heat for drifting off during the debrief."

Michael laughed, putting down his orange juice so not to spill it. "I always suspected you made it to Commander because those in charge wanted you to be someone else's problem."

"Yours, apparently," Sam raised his mug in salute to his best friend, making Michael laugh once more.

Marissa was waiting tables this morning. With a friendly smile she stopped by to check on them. "You boys seem to be in a good mood. Can I get you anything?"

Sam let out a loud yawn as he held out his cup for a top up. "You'd be doing the world a favour if you left the pot," he told her once his cup was full.

"Sure," Marissa put a napkin underneath to keep the pot from leaving a burn mark in the middle of the table. She eyed Michael and tilted her head in Sam's direction, asking silently if he was alright.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Michael promised.

With a nod, Marissa headed back to the kitchen, most likely to get another pot of coffee for the other customers.

Fiona entered Carlito's and joined their group with a flounce of airy fabric. Her short dress swirled about her legs as she took her seat. She greeted Michael with a smile, leaned forward and placed a warm hand on his knee, "Hello, Michael."

Not quite managing to look unaffected as Fiona took up a fair amount of his personal space, Michael greeted her warmly, "Mornin' Fi." Michael's left hand snaked below the table top to squeeze her's. Michael used his free hand to pour Fiona a cup of coffee.

"Nice to see you two made up," Sam grunted from across the table.

Fiona looked at the older man with a frown, not pleased to be sharing her morning with anyone other than Michael. "You look like something the cat brought up."

"I'll remember that the next time you ask me to pull back-up duty for one of your all night gun deals," Sam added more coffee to his cup. Taking a sip he made a sour face. Grabbing the sugar bowl, he added another packet of raw sugar. Not immediately seeing a spoon, he grabbed a fork from the table and, using the wrong end, stirred the sweetener into his drink. Taking another sip he sighed.

Fiona screwed up her face watching the performance. "That was two nights ago, don't blame me for your lack of beauty sleep."

With great hesitation, Sam put his coffee cup down on the table. With his hands finally free, Sam reached under his chair and pulled out a manila folder that he placed on the table in front of him.

Tapping the edge of the folder, "Last night, I was up putting this baby together."

Michael raised his eyebrows, having calculated that Sam had been awake for over two days now. No wonders the man was subsisting on caffeine and sugar.

Fiona was about to comment, but shook herself free from the worry about Sam's activities. He was a big boy, and could take care of himself. Looking at the folder, Fiona knew it was no use asking about its contents. Sam would go over the details only once, when their new client arrived. Making obvious glances around Carlito's, Fiona asked, "Where is your client, Sam? He's late."

Checking his own watch, "It's only ten to nine, Fi. Stoney'll be here," Sam went back to drinking his overly sweet coffee.

As if the mention of his name magically conjured up the man, Stoney appeared at the entrance to Carlito's. Taking a quick look around, he spotted Sam and quickly weaved his way between the tables, finally taking the seat between Sam and Fiona.

Though she had worked hard to make headway with Michael on their relationship, Fiona was still able to appreciate the way Stoney's t-shirt clung to his defined biceps and not a single roll was visible through the tight fabric on his stomach. With a smile she poured coffee into the cup in front of Stoney.

"Thank you," Stoney smiled charmingly back to Fiona, missing Michael's frown.

Sam made introductions, his coffee cup making a slight indication towards each person as he said their name.

"I'm sorry to hear about your girlfriend," Fiona said with sympathy as she blew a cooling breath on her hot coffee.

Stoney lowered his head for a moment, pausing before returning her look, "With Sam's help, I can make things right again."

She gave Sam a sharp look, "Hope you don't mind that Michael and I tag along?"

Sam gave a small shrug, but was unable to comment before Stoney dug a deeper hole for him to crawl out of, "You're a member of Sam's team?"

"I never said **my** team," Sam quickly amended, before Fiona could leap across the table and strangle him with his own tongue, "I told him that I had friends who got results."

Though Fiona glared at Sam, she refrained from doling out bodily harm; which was always a good start to the day in Sam's book.

Wanting to distract his friends, Michael poured more coffee into each of their cups. "What have you found out so far, Sam?" He indicated the folder that was still unopened on the table.

With a sigh, Sam took a sip of his drink, "I found out where our guy hangs out."

Stoney placed his cup down heavily on the table, hot coffee spilling over the edge. "How?" He sputtered with surprise, but quickly regained his composure. "I mean, we spoke what? Two? Three times last night? I gave you all I know, but that wasn't much. I thought we'd be checking out empty warehouses for a week."

Usually Sam would have taken great pleasure going into detail about the who's, where's and what-for's, but with a tired look that didn't improve, even after draining his coffee cup, he replied, "You missed me mentioning this earlier." He exchanged the empty cup in his hand for the folder on the table. With a flick of his fingers at the corner, "It took all night, but everything is here."

Everyone sat up in their chairs as Sam finally opened the folder and pulled out a black and white, 8 x 10 photo from the top of the pile of papers. It showed a middle aged man with a receding hairline and a face sporting a long scar following his left cheek bone.

"Stoney got the name Grigori Kolpec from his contacts before coming to Miami. His group isn't the largest of the Russian mob, but they're certainly the most affluent." Sam introduced the bad guy. Next he pulled out a color photo of a car dealership. "Platinum Performance Imports. It only deals in high end, foreign automobiles; Lamborghini, Bugatti, Pagani. You get the picture. Kolpec is a silent partner in the dealership."

The surprised look returned to Stoney's face, "None of my resources show that association. I found several police investigations for drugs and money laundering. They've run warrants for searches on nearly half a dozen warehouses down in Port Miami; the ones I thought we'd be searching. The FBI also has a file, but they haven't been able to put enough together to proceed further. I thought you were just pulling addresses on known locations?"

"What can I say? I'm a very thorough guy." He reached for his cup but remembered it was empty. He gave Fiona a pointed look that moved to his cup. The pot of coffee was closest to her. She smiled but otherwise didn't move.

Sam sighed before continuing with his explanation, "I found layers of shell corporations and read between the lines. I couldn't see this guy hiding a kidnap victim in a location known to the police," Sam yawned loudly and nodded his thanks when Stoney poured coffee into his cup.

"Just what the doctor ordered." Sam reached for the sugar, but Fiona would only pass a single packet of sugar substitute. Sam refused to accept the offending pink packet and continued to hold out his hand for the real deal. "Either pass the good stuff, Fi, or all I'll be contributing here is my snoring."

"Fine," Fiona said. With a huff of indignation she passed the sugar bowl across the table. Watching Sam add the only two packets of raw sugar left, she held out a spoon. Whether he didn't notice, or just wanted to antagonize Fiona a little further, Sam stirred his drink with the handle of the fork again.

Michael tried not to laugh. He didn't want to encourage his friends' antics, but he knew they rarely acted out of animosity, but usually to keep up appearances…usually.

Sam continued as he pulled out another slip of paper, "My buddy down in Metro-Dade division also gave me a list of clients using the dealership. Reads like the who's who of Miami. Basketball players, movie stars, land owners from out on Biscayne Bay and Fisher Island. Not to mention the long list of known Russian mafia members."

"People of influence," Fiona said with disgust. "Too important to be dragged down to the police station for questions about their drug habits."

"It's just the way the world works," Stoney didn't disagree with Fiona.

"I agree that all this sounds bad, but what does it have to do with wind technology and your girlfriend?" Michael asked Stoney.

As Sam flipped through the pages in his folder, Stoney explained, "Grigori Kolpec has a cousin in the National Resource Department back in Moscow."

Sam pulled out another picture; this one of a younger Kolpec with his arm around a man with similar build and bone structure. "Viktor Stanovich," Sam said. "He gets that technology and he moves up in his department. Even gets a direct line to the ear of the Prime Minister."

"Couldn't he achieve that without kidnapping?" Fiona asked with disgust.

Michael made an educated guess, "The competition for contracts will be fierce, driving up the price for the technology. This way the Russians have a bargaining chip, giving them first signing privileges with unlimited access to the needed hardware to set everything up."

"This deal is worth billions of dollars," Stoney sighed. "Stanovich will look like a saviour to the Russian government."

"So how do you want to play this, Michael?" Fiona asked, clearly wanting to put a crimp in the Russians' plans.

All eyes turned to Michael. "I guess I'm going shopping for a new car." He turned to Fiona with an expectant look, including puppy dog eyes, "We need to look good financially."

"Fine, I'll see Barry," Fiona rolled her eyes. " But you know how much I dislike being in the same room as him. He's always asking about beauty products." Fiona gave Michael a devilish smirk, "You'll owe me a new pair of shoes for this."

Michael was about to argue, but Stoney interrupted, "I don't know who this Barry guy is, but I'll happily buy you a new pair of shoes. Seems a small price to pay." He smiled gratefully to Fiona.

Fiona smirked at Michael, "Finally, a gentleman who understands priorities."

Michael rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting.

Sam just yawned and stretched out his arms. There was a substantial amount of crackling as he arched his back to stretch those muscles. He placed his hands on the table, preparing to stand up, when Michael spoke, "Sam, your car will blend in best to check out the dealership."

Sam eyed Michael suspiciously as he reached into his pocket. Before handing over the keys to his Caddy, he checked his friend for signs that he was about to suggest something other than borrowing the car and allowing Sam his immediate plans for sleep. Seeing only a guileless smile, Sam opened his fingers, giving access to the keys in his palm. Gladly, Michael took the keys before placing a hand under Sam's arm to help him stand.

When Michael didn't immediately let go, Sam groaned, "Mikey, I'm going home to sleep."

"Sleep? What about my Rita?" Stoney asked quietly. "You an old man now, Sam? You used to make it at least three days before getting this bad." Stoney found a small amount of amusement in his observation.

Sam glared at Stoney, but didn't expand on his activities of the past couple of days and nights. Instead he turned on Michael. With a finger to his friend's chest he was about to explain the benefits of a well rested team. Instead Michael smiled and gently grabbed Sam around the wrist. It was testament to Sam's exhaustion, that it took next to no effort to stop the finger from its continuous poking.

"Come on, Sam. I'll let you sleep all the way to the dealership," Michael put a friendly arm around Sam's shoulders and began to lead him out of the restaurant.

"You're a true friend," Sam sighed in resignation.

Stoney stood up before they got too far, "What about me? What can I do?"

Michael paused, causing Sam to almost stumble. Michael cast a worried glance at his friend, which Sam apparently didn't appreciate, "For crying out loud, Mikey. I'm tired, not dying." Sam then turned his waning patience on his old squad mate. "Stoney, go back to your hotel. Check in with your contacts still working with Avnet Technologies. Get back to us if you hear anything new." Not waiting for Michael, Sam started back toward the exit. He looked over his shoulder and called out, "You comin' or what?"

Michael gave a quick nod to Fiona before hurrying in Sam's wake.

Stoney watched the men leave and then turned a questioning eye to Fiona. "Are they always like that?"

Fiona shrugged indifferently, "Sam's usually not that grumpy. His sugar high must be coming down already."

Stoney nodded, "I don't remember Sam being so moody." Then he gave a half shrug, as if accepting that time changes everything, including Sam Axe. "I guess I had better get back to the hotel and make some calls."

"We'll call you before we move on to the next step," Fiona reassured the man. Stoney nodded thankfully as he slowly got up from his chair. Tentatively he added, "Thank you, Fiona."

"Don't worry. We'll get Rita back," Fiona clasped Stoney's hand, giving him a comforting squeeze. Stoney, unable to speak, nodded before stepping out of Carlito's.

Fiona sighed as she sat back in her chair. It was refreshing to see a man so concerned for the welfare of his loved one. Checking her watch, she knew it was still too early to get useful conversation out of Barry. She flagged Marissa and ordered an egg white omelette. She might as well enjoy the peace and quiet while she had it.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to Purdy's Pal for reading through this chapter. It's, as always, greatly appreciated.

Thanks to everyone for your time in reading, favoriting and/or messaging me. You make this so much more fun.

**Chapter 4  
><strong>

"Sam," Michael nudged the man in the passenger seat.

"Hmmm?" Sam came awake slowly, a huge yawn taking over the lower half of his face. Rubbing his eyes, and with a wistful smile he turned to his friend, "Ah Mike, I was having this beautiful dream."

"Sorry Sam. After you tell me if that's our guy, I'll let you go back to your dreams of wild women," Michael held out the binoculars, his eyes still trained on the car lot across the street. .

Sam accepted the binoculars with a whine, "Women, nothing. I was sleeping in this down filled bed as it floated through fluffy clouds." He sighed heavenly as he adjusted the eye pieces. Looking where Michael directed, Sam watched three men look over a newly arrived Bugatti. "If you were thinking the guy in the gray three piece suit, I'd have to agree." Sam brought down the binoculars, an appreciative gaze making him look more awake than he had since their stakeout began at Platinum Performance Imports two hours ago. "When you go car shopping, make sure you take that silver Veyron out for a drive. I'll wait around the corner. Me, that car, the women…Oh, it'll be a little piece of heaven!" Sam was practically drooling with anticipation.

Michael took back the binoculars and trying not to sound annoyed, said "Sure, Sam. Do you mind if we check out the dealer first?"

If Michael wasn't going to allow any fun distractions, there wasn't much reason for him to stay awake. "You know as well as I do," Sam muttered, his eyes closing as his head leaned against the window. "Everything is going to be above-board. They'll have their i's dotted and t's crossed. Why do you think my police buddy was so willing to fork over the information? I think he's hoping we make enough of a ruckus to give the police justifiable cause to enter and search the place."

Michael cast Sam a questioning look, which was totally missed by his near-comatose partner. Michael sighed. It wasn't worth the energy to be upset with a guy who was probably right anyway. Still, he'd have to go in and make sure. The police were bound by procedures and civil rights as to what and how they processed evidence. Michael usually found his clues outside of those rules.

"I'm going to need a cover I.D." Michael poked Sam in the ribs, making sure his comment was heard by their in-house craftsman.

With his arms crossed over his stomach, Sam waved his right hand vaguely at Michael's poking finger, as if it were nothing more than an annoying fly.

"You may have to co-ordinate things with Barry," Michael turned slightly in the driver's seat, getting a better view of the man in the passenger seat. "Are you getting this?"

Sam gave a low grunt and his hand fluttered slightly. If Michael hadn't seen it, he wouldn't believe the man had been awake and talking only seconds ago.

Michael sighed and turned back to watching the lot and the man in the gray suit. The designer clothes did nothing to hide the menacing vibe radiating off of the Russian. There weren't going to be a lot of sales on the lot with Kolpec standing there.

The men must have finished extolling the virtues of the high-performance car as they each gave the machine a loving pat and headed towards the building. Before they reached the front doors, an older model sedan drove up and parked. A fashionably dressed man exited the car and after a few quick strides, he was greeting the three men of Platinum Performance Imports. Michael couldn't read lips, but the handshakes and smiles all around looked friendly enough. Now all four men continued into the offices of the dealership. One of the men, Michael placed him as a salesmen's lackey, held open the door for the rest of the group.

"Sam, wake up," Michael was now sitting straight in his seat, focusing on the new-comer. "Do you know who that guy is? He looks familiar."

Sam returned to full consciousness quickly, but while he was blinking his eyes into focus, the door closed behind the man Michael wanted to identify.

"Sorry, Mikey," Sam apologized. "That his car?" he pointed to the blue sedan parked by the doors. At Michael's nod, Sam wrote down the license plate. He'd get his buddy to run it for him later.

It all happened so quickly, Michael couldn't be angry that Sam missed it. He was content with the tired man's powers of observation. Since arriving, Sam hadn't spent more than ten minutes looking at the lot and he spotted the new arrival quickly. Of course, the Grand Marquis didn't exactly blend in with the luxury cars on the lot. Still, he'd noticed the addition and would find out who it belonged to. The guy didn't look like a customer; he hadn't looked at any vehicles. Could be nothing, but then again, Michael wasn't about to trust his, or anyone's life, to assumptions.

An hour later the man emerged from the office. In the few seconds he had been able to see the man, before he had hidden himself within the darkened sedan's interior, Sam had the vague notion he recognized him, but couldn't come up with a name. It would have to wait for his buddy to run the plates.

They spent the rest of the morning and their lunch time watching customers come and go from the car lot. Each time, Michael would poke or swat Sam to ensure each vehicle's license plate was logged. By early afternoon, Michael noticed Sam was fighting to retain even a low level of alertness. He started up the Caddy. "How about I take you home and you can get started on that Cover I.D. You can even have a nap in your own bed."

Sam shifted slightly, stretching his legs, "Great idea. Wish I'd thought of it." He'd only whined all morning about losing the ability to recognize his own pillow and the health hazards of sleep deprivation.

Michael grinned as he pulled away from the curb. He'd drop Sam off and return to continue surveillance on the lot. He'd make plans after noting the comings and goings of the day.

* * *

><p>Fiona entered the highway diner where Barry set their meeting. She had never been here before, and if she had any say in the matter, she would never be here again. The smell of fried, greasy food was thick in the air. Large men wearing baseball caps were sitting at the counter, hunched over their meals.<p>

Spotting Barry in the far corner, Fiona made her way over. She cringed at the duct taped, orange vinyl bench seat, but remembering the new pair of shoes that came with this case, she sat down across from the money launderer.

"Hello Barry," Fiona greeted him. She sat straight with her hands folded in her lap. She didn't want to touch any more of this place than was absolutely necessary.

Barry swallowed a mouthful of hash browns as he eyed Fiona's stiff posture and the look of disdain on her face. "Fiona," he greeted her, "Afraid of the unwashed masses?"

"Hardly," Fiona watched Barry shovel another forkful of food into his mouth and grimaced. "What are you eating?"

"This place has the best breakfast. Just like mom used to make," Barry rubbed his tummy in pure enjoyment of his meal.

Fiona couldn't hide her disgust, "Your mom cooked everything in a pound of grease? Didn't she like you?"

Barry looked surprised. "This is comfort food. Makes you feel warm and safe."

Fiona shook her head, "Comatose is not safe, Barry."

Barry shrugged, accepting the fact that he and Fiona were not meant to agree on food. "So what do you guys need from me this time?" He continued shovelling.

"An account to buy a new car," Fiona answered with a smile.

Barry's eyes narrowed, and after a moment's pause his fork continued on its way to his mouth. "What's so special about this car?"

"It's on a lot owned by the Russian mafia."

"Care to be more specific?" Barry mumbled around his mouthful.

"Platinum Performance Imports"

Barry choked. Using the tip of her finger, Fiona pushed a glass of water across the table to be within Barry's reach. After taking a sip, followed by some coughing, Barry could breathe normally again.

"Why is it you always want to piss off the big guys?" Barry asked with concern.

Fiona was curious about Barry's information. Sam had to do some pretty deep digging and connect things together with his special magic, "Tell me what you know."

"Not much, and that's the way I'd like to keep it," Barry looked hopeful that Fiona would accept that answer, but wasn't surprised when she glared him into answering with more.

"There's talk," he started

"Who's talking?" Fiona interrupted.

"No one…Everyone," Barry was frustrated. "It's just talk, OK?"

"OK," Fiona raised her hands, letting go of her question.

Barry took a deep calming breath. "There's _talk_," he started again. "I get a fair amount of business from those types," at Fiona's questioning look, Barry expanded, "Russians. The ones that still have strong ties back home. Lot of those guys want to keep a little Western capitalism for themselves. They can't go home with an American bank account full of ill gotten gains. A call goes out to someone like me…" Barry shrugged innocently. "But I've never heard of a call coming from Platinum Imports. It's been said that they brought in their own money manager to take care of their accounts."

"Maybe they're clean," Fiona pointed out the possibility.

Now it was Barry's turn to raise an eyebrow, questioning Fiona. "You ever hear of an above-board, Russian run '_anything'_ in Miami?"

Fiona looked to be considering the possibility, but shrugged, "That's why we keep you around, Barry. So we don't have to follow these things. Well that, and to set up bogus accounts so we can buy cars from those decadent, western loving Commies."

Barry put down his fork, having finished his breakfast, and sighed. "And this is why I need comfort food. The more time I spend with you guys, the more I eat here."

"What do you need to get this done?" Fiona asked, snapping her fingers. She could feel the oils in the air settling on her skin. She needed to leave and get herself somewhere healthier. The next time she was stuck at Madeline's, with the cigarette smoke and the teeth-splitting cookies, she'd remember this diner, and just soak the cookie in her tea a few extra minutes and keep critical comments to herself.

Barry thought for a minute, muttering up at the ceiling as he wrote a mental list. He paused mid mumble for clarification, "Should I assume Michael will be going for a Bugatti?"

"You can only make _one_ first impression," Fiona smiled. She had never been in a million dollar car before. She looked forward to the drive she was sure she could talk Michael into.

Barry frowned at the thought of manipulating the large sum, but nodded agreement. He understood that in a con, you don't aim for middle ground. Good thing Barry was used to this kind of work.

"Will it matter where the account is based?" Barry asked as he worked out details.

"Any place that won't bring the Feds knocking on our doors with their guns drawn," Fiona specified. There were banks tracked by government agencies due to known associations with Al Qaeda. Michael wouldn't appreciate having an authentic reason for being burned.

Now for the question Barry dreaded, "How much time do I have to do all this magic?"

Fiona stood up; happy to be answering what she thought of as Barry's last question, "Lots of time on this one."

Barry smiled with relief, but Fiona's grin caused it to falter.

"Michael won't need it until tomorrow morning," Fiona turned and was on her way out.

Barry stood up and started after her. He almost had to shout to catch her attention, "What name should it be under?"

Fiona didn't stop or turn around; she just kept getting closer to the exit. She threw her hand up in the air, signalling Barry to stop following. "Call Sam."

Barry stopped in his tracks, two steps away from his table. He noticed he wasn't the only one watching the north end of the south bound woman. Fiona always drew eyes. She was vibrant and sexy. As Barry sat back down to finish his coffee, he thought about Fiona. Her size was very misleading as to the power contained within her small stature. A huge grin took over his face as he sipped his coffee. He had a conversation with Fiona that lasted longer than ten minutes, and not once did she threaten any part of his anatomy. He was making headway on their relationship.


	5. Chapter 5

Many thanks to Purdy's Pal for reading over this chapter. Your advice is always appreciated.

Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, favoriting and PM'ing. Your gifts of friendship are treasured. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

**C****hapter 5**

"Well, Hello there," Michael walked up with his hand held out to the first salesman he saw. "My name is Zeke Watkins. Pleased to meet ya." Michael pumped the stunned man's hand until the salesman managed to slow the arm wrenching greeting and pull himself loose.

"Steve Traynor. How may I be of service to you today?" Steve had been a salesman at the luxury car dealership long enough to know that the rich clientele came in all sorts of packages. Steve admired the soft brown Armani suit jacket, but couldn't fathom the conditions required to make the man pair it with blue jeans and cowboy boots.

"Well Steve," Michael's accent was a mix somewhere between farmer and hillbilly. "My aunt, Martha Sue, done told me to stop by this here car lot and pick myself up a new vehicle." He pronounced it vee-hickle.

Steve gave a big enough smile to hide his grimace, "How did your aunt…"

"Martha Sue," Michael filled in for the stumbling salesman.

"Martha Sue," Steve managed to look grateful for the help, "How did she hear of us?"

"Shoot," Michael was secretly plotting Sam's demise over the creation of this cover I.D. "Martha Sue is good friends with Betty Rae and she's the great aunt to Jamaal Magloire. You know him? He's the center with Miami Heat." Next time, he would ensure Sam napped _before_ creating fictional people that he'd have to play. He was sure Sam was listening at the other end of the wire, laughing it up.

Steve's smile became slightly more genuine. Many of the NBA players had visited the lot. "You want the same car as Mr. Magloire?"

"Heck no!" Michael looked affronted. At Steve's concerned look, Michael continued with a grin, "I want one better."

Steve's smile grew. "Your aunt, Martha Sue wants bragging rights back home in…"

"Booneville, Kentucky," Michael had never been to Kentucky, but thought the town's name suited the identity he was given. "Betty Rae became the bane of Aunt Martha's existence when good ol' Jamaal made it big time. But since that oil gusher was accidentally tapped on granpappy's farm when we set up the new irrigation lines – Woo Wee! Martha Sue has been like a tick on a hound dog; driving me crazy until I got myself down here to pick out a car."

Steve couldn't believe his luck. If he closed this sale, he`d be able to make that final payment on his cigarette boat early. "So which of our fine vehicles were you thinking of, Zeke?"

With his hands on his hips, Michael looked around the lot. "That one, right there." He heard Sam's voice from yesterday, begging for the silver Veyron. He pointed to a yellow Pagani.

Steve clapped Michael on the shoulder, "Great choice. Let's go inside and get the paper work out of the way so you can take that beauty for a drive."

Michael grinned toothily as he followed Steve to the office doors. As they were crossing the asphalt in front of the main building, Michael was sure he heard the distinctive honk from a Cadillac. He turned his head and frowned in the direction he knew his friend was parked. He had his smile firmly back in place by the time Steve was looking across the lot, trying to locate the sound.

"Sorta reminds me of Aunt Martha's goat. Always making noises and causing a disturbance if it thinks someone else is getting attention." Michael opened the glass door and waited for Steve to go through.

Not finding the cause of the noise, Steve turned his attention back to his customer. "All these beautiful cars can't help but steal the show."

* * *

><p>Sam's bad mood was well established an hour before Michael drove his Charger onto the lot. Sam and Stoney were arguing about a 45 foot Sealine motor yacht that was docked near the sea wall. It was obvious to Stoney that the yacht belonged with the dealership. The name on the transom read 'Platinum Built'. Stoney wanted to swim to the yacht and check it out. Sam thought it would be wiser to run the ship through his buddy at the harbour master.<p>

"Rita could be on that ship," Stoney slapped the dash, trying to control his anger. "If we wait, we could lose her."

The headache that had started even before his alarm clock went off, had grown steadily since Stoney sat down in the Cadillac and started whining about all the waiting Sam seemed insistent on.

"You're assuming she's there. We don't even know who owns that boat," Sam argued.

"We don't have to board the yacht right away," Stoney continued pressing for consent. "We swim to the far side and check it out from the water. We'll board only if you give the all clear." Stoney smiled and added what he was sure to be the winning line, "Just like in the good ol' days."

Sam cast Stoney a wary glance. "I don't think we're remembering the same days."

Stoney slapped his leg and gave a short laugh. "There's the Sam Axe sense of humour I remember so well."

With one raised eyebrow, Sam wondered about Stoney's memories, but decided to argue on another tack, "I am not swimming in that water. It may look fine from here, but I assure you, there's things in there that'll peel your skin."

"Not to worry," Stoney popped open the passenger door. "There's a scuba rental place just up the block. I'll just go sign out what we need. You sit and watch for your friend." Stoney was gone before Sam could reach out a restraining hand.

Sam was left alone to wonder how the situation had come to this. He massaged his temples, hoping to ease some of the pain building there. How was he supposed to back up Michael and swim out to the yacht at the same time? He and Michael had agreed last night that when Michael was out pumping salesmen for information under the guise of test driving the high end luxury cars, Sam would listen in, but not follow. They didn't need the Cadillac spotted and their bluff called so early in the game. Michael would also be dropping a bug in the office while filling out the paperwork to take a car off the lot. Sam was supposed to monitor that line as well. That's why he brought Stoney along. It seemed like a good idea last night when he'd proposed it to Stoney. Sam knew he could easily record the bugs, but that wasn't the point. It was supposed to be a simple surveillance gig. With two ex-SEALs it should have been a cake walk.

He wasn't worried about the swim. While the channel was dirty and full of litter, it wasn't a serious obstacle. He had been trained in, and even led several missions through, all sorts of life threatening water related conditions. No, what worried him was containing Stoney once they reached the yacht. He didn't believe for a second that if there were signs of Rita Avnet being on that ship, Stoney would listen to rational planning.

As Michael drove onto the car lot, and before Sam could come up with a plan that didn't include his butt testing the Cadillac seats' water resistance ability, Stoney returned with his arms full of rental gear. Sam unlocked the back door so Stoney could crawl in to the larger space to change into his diving suit.

Sam turned up the volume on Michael's wire so they could hear him make friends with the salesman.

"He's pretty good, your friend," Stoney waved a hand in the general direction of Michael on the car lot.

"I think it was on our third mission together, that I finally figured out what Mike really sounds like," Sam smiled as he boasted of his friend's abilities.

"Sounds like you guys worked a few gigs together," Stoney chatted as he changed.

Sam shrugged, "A few." He played with the volume on Mike's wire before picking up the binoculars from the floor to get a better view of the two men getting chummy on the car lot.

Stoney paused in his re-dressing to watch Sam, his thoughts returning to the past. It appeared that while both he and Sam had been SEALs, their careers had been vastly different. He brought himself back to the present with a shake of his head and finished changing. Stoney picked up the second set of gear and dropped it into the front seat. The heavy scuba tank bumped Sam on its way over, causing Sam's elbow to hit the horn.

Sam turned to glare at Stoney who was smiling and had his hands up in an insincere apology.

"You trying to get us caught?" Sam asked.

"Hey, Mike'll cover for us," Stoney didn't show any signs of worry.

Over the wire they heard Michael's comment about Aunt Martha's goat.

"I think he just called you a goat," Stoney laughed as he swatted Sam in the shoulder. Sam didn't comment, but glared at the man in the back seat.

"Sounds like a fun cover. Mike must be enjoying himself," Stoney changed topics as he grabbed the binoculars from Sam's hands, giving him a chance to change into the diving suit.

Sam laughed as he unbuttoned his Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt. "Enjoying himself? Oh, no. My friend Mikey is wondering if he has any wooden stakes and where the nearest ant hill is."

"What?" Stoney was surprised by the talk of torture.

"My creative juices are renowned throughout the land. Next time Mikey will appreciate them a little more if he agrees to my terms," Sam chuckled as he slid his arms into the rubber top and pulled the zippered sides together over his chest. It took some tugging, but Sam managed to bring the zipper pull to the top.

Stoney opened the back door and hoisted one of the scuba tanks onto the sidewalk. He leaned across the seat to grab the second tank, "Come on, old man," he met Sam's gaze in the rear view mirror. "You and your juices take up a lot more space in a diving suit than they used to."

Sam looked down at his tightly encased torso. With some thought, he smiled and patted his rounded stomach. "Ahh, there's just more of me to love."

* * *

><p>Considering this was sunny Miami, the water was cold. Too damn cold in Sam's book. If he had to be back in a diving suit, he should at least be in the warm, blue waters of the Caribbean surrounded by beautiful women in bikinis; not fighting the urge to rub goose bumps away and getting covered in slimy brown weeds. With no little amount of disgust, he pulled a particularly nasty piece of growth away from his shoulders and tossed it away. He glared at Stoney who grinned back, his white teeth sparkling in contrast to his dark diving suit.<p>

They had decided not to use the scuba tanks because of their bulk. And Stoney didn't want to risk losing his deposit at the rental store if they had to drop the tanks for stealth purposes. With snorkels in place they had swam from the edge of the sea wall starting a block away from the Platinum Performance lot. Now they were treading water just off the stern of the medium sized cruising ship.

They held a silent conversation using old SEAL hand signals. It didn't take long before Sam gave up and quietly huffed, "**You** said you'd wait until **I** said it was safe."

Stoney pulled himself up on the small diving platform at the back of the yacht. He took a quick peek over the side, seeing no one. He offered a helping hand and pulled Sam up beside him. "I lied," he tried to soften the blow with a smile.

Sam sighed. He knew as soon as Stoney had suggested the swim that they'd end up here. He didn't agree with the act, but there was no way he'd let a team member go without backup. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

"I let things go this far," Sam acknowledged with a grumble, "But we will be doing things MY way from here on out."

Stoney slapped Sam's shoulder as he stood up, did another quick scan before hopping over the side rail, landing quietly inside the yacht. With a 'why me' look up to the sky, Sam silently followed Stoney.

Softly they padded across the open end of the yacht, unable to avoid leaving the tell-tale signs of wet footprints across the planking. Sticking to the shadows, they pressed themselves against the side of the cabin. Stoney made a move to open the door, but Sam stopped him by wagging his finger then pointing to his chest, indicating he was going to enter first. Pulling out his Glock from the dry bag he carried tucked away inside his suit, Sam undid the safety and readied himself. Stoney turned the knob and then quickly pulled the door open. Sam popped his head around the jamb for a peek. Seeing an empty salon, his body slid through the entryway. Stoney followed on his heels.

The salon was tastefully done with U-shaped seating and a glass covered table. Stoney wrenched open the cupboard and found a TV and small fridge tucked away.

"If your girl is even here, she won't be crammed into one of these seat storage bins," Sam whispered, indicating with the tip of his gun the additional storage available under the bench seat around the table.

Stoney pointed with his 9mm pistol towards two other doors. One led to a small galley and the other would lead to the cabins below deck. It only took a few seconds to see that while the galley was fully stocked there was no one hiding within the cramped space. Stoney tapped Sam on the shoulder and smiled as he prepared to open the second door. With another sigh, Sam nodded, if he was in for a penny, he was in for a pound. What he really needed was a cliché that worked for him, like: beer and a movie at home make Sam a safe and happy guy.

The door opened to an empty, narrow stairwell. Sam paused, listening for any signs of people below. Hearing nothing but the subtle slap of water against the hull, Sam proceeded to slink downwards. The stairs ended in a hallway with three closed doors.

As much as he didn't want to split up, they were running out of time. Sam signalled Stoney to take the port cabin, while he reached for the door on the starboard side. The cabins were mirror images. Each was finished in cherry wood with a fully upholstered double berth, vanity unit and wardrobe. They were also similar in that neither of them held a captive. Together, Sam and Stoney moved to the final door, the master cabin.

Continuing their practise, Stoney opened the door and Sam entered the room, leading with his Glock. They found another well appointed cabin with extra amenities. The vanity had a large mirror with lights, the wardrobe had two shelves and, just like the salon above, there was a cupboard hiding a TV and fridge; but still no signs of Rita Avnet. Sam decided what he liked best about this room, as he heard the unmistakable sounds of a feet treading across the gang plank and stepping onto the yacht, was the access hatch to the deck above.

The voices of the men became louder as they discovered the footprints leading from the stern to the salon. Although Sam couldn't see them, he knew guns were being pulled and men were heading their way. He pulled on the ladder hooked to the wall, and standing on the bottom rung, he undid the lock to the hatch.

"Get your ass up there!" Sam ordered.

Stoney didn't need to be told twice. He wasn't all the way through before Sam started up. The hatch opened onto the bow of the yacht. They raced past the double sized sun bed and even though he counted four bottles, Sam didn't take the time to steal any of the Samuel Adams Utopias on his way past the fully stocked wet bar. Stoney was waiting at the handrail for Sam to catch up when bullets began zinging by. He was about to bring up his 9mil and return fire when Sam shouted "Go!"

Stoney was in a 'taking orders' kind of mood as he shoved his gun into his diving suit and dove into the water. Sam dodged bullets and flying deck chips as he ran to the side. His gun already hidden safely back into his suit, he dove over the railing and entered the water with a splash.


	6. Chapter 6

We had such a marvellous Christmas around here, I need a vacation to recuperate. =) Hope you all had the same kind of joyous holiday.

Special thanks to Purdy's Pal for reading through, over and around this chapter. You're awesome!

Thanks to everyone else for your time in reading and commenting in all the various ways that you do! It's always appreciated.

**Chapter 6**

After diving off the yacht, both ex-SEALs filled their lungs and swam under the ship to meet up at the stern end. With the gunmen busy looking over the bow, they felt safe enough to take a few moments to get as much air back into their lungs before diving below the water. They both knew they had to get as far from the yacht as possible so they swam as hard and as far as their air would allow. Stoney's head broke the surface first, Sam popped up a few seconds later. They found themselves only a few feet away from the secluded grassy area along the sea wall that they had started out from.

"Not bad, not bad," Stoney complimented with a wheeze. Sam was unsure if the remark was meant for him, or not. He was too out of breath to ask and too tired to care.

Stoney swam to the sea wall with only a few overhand strokes, and pulled himself out of the water. Sam took a moment to get a second wind before swimming the slight distance for him to reach the wall. Stoney was lying in the shade of a palm tree, taking some much needed deep breaths, leaving Sam to heave himself out of the water.

Sam crawled over to join Stoney in the little bit of available shade. "We can't stay here," he said as he turned to lean against the trunk of the palm.

"I know," Stoney slowly got to his feet, "Come on, Old Man," he slapped Sam in the shoulder and slowly started back to the Cadillac. With a grunt, Sam pulled himself up and grabbed both the scuba tanks from behind a bush, where they had hidden them.

"No, don't stop," Sam muttered bitterly to Stoney who was too far ahead to hear, "I've got 'em."

When they met up at the Cadillac, Sam thrust both canisters into Stoney's arms so he could pop open the trunk. Stoney dropped them with a loud clank into the spacious back-end.

"Hey thanks for getting these. I forgot we had them out there," Stoney beamed his gratitude. Sam only glared in return.

Stoney unzipped the top of his suit and began pulling it off to change back into street clothes. He joined Sam in the front seat of the car in time to catch the older man's mutterings on the injustices of life.

Sam hadn't gotten any further along in changing than undoing the zipper of his suit. Sam swatted Stoney's hand away from his bicep where the man was poking him, "Ow. Stop it. That hurts."

"I'm sure it does," Stoney poked one more time. "I think that's gonna need stitches. What did you do?"

"What?" Sam's eyes sprung open. He grabbed his right elbow with his left hand and pulled his arm in so he could see down his muscle. There was a two inch gash in the sleeve of his diving suit. Blood was flowing freely down the outside of the rubber suit.

Sam summed everything up with one word. "Crap."

He pulled his arms free from the suit, being extra gentle with his injured arm. Stoney rolled Sam's undershirt into a makeshift bandage and tied it around the cut. Both men quickly finished changing and drove away as they heard the sound of police sirens coming toward the car lot.

The salesmen at Platinum Performance had become alarmed by the commotion out on the water and called 9-1-1. Michael made an excuse to leave before the cops showed up, promising he'd be back to do the test drive and order his new car.

Michael still had his wire on, and once he was inside the Charger, he instructed Sam to meet him at the loft. Sam could tell he was struggling to contain his anger.

Apparently, so could Stoney. "What's that all about?" he asked.

Sam didn't bother to control his anger, "You don't get it, do you?" From the confused look on Stoney's face, Sam could tell that he didn't.

"We were his back up. We left our post to play Aquaman and look what it got us! Nothin'! That's what. Any one of us could have been killed." Sam shook his head. Looking back he still couldn't see any other way he could have handled the situation; but it didn't make him feel better about leaving Michael.

Stoney defended himself. "We were looking for my fiancée. She could have been out on that boat!"

"Then we should have waited until we had a plan!" Sam replied back with vehemence.

"Okay, okay," Stoney held up his hands in surrender. "No one got hurt, so no harm no foul."

With a pointed look, Sam's eyes travelled from Stoney to the shirt wrapped around his arm and back again. "This isn't grade school, Stoney. Getting hurt on these kinds of jobs isn't like getting benched for a two minute penalty."

"It's not that bad, Sam," Stoney groaned, "Honestly, a coupla stitches and you'll be good as new."

"Did you happen to see any of those bullets that were flying our way out there? We were lucky," Sam tried to get Stoney to appreciate the danger. Besides, his arm really hurt. Once he saw the blood, the pain receptors did double time to catch up.

As soon as they met up at the loft, Michael was ready to tear a strip off the ex-SEALs for being so reckless, but then he noticed the lines of blood running from under the wrapping on Sam's arm. With a sigh he led both men up the stairs and into his loft. He told Stoney to sit in the green chair, and to stay quiet. A look from Sam convinced Stoney this was not the time to questions orders. Michael then directed Sam to wait for him on the bed with the added warning he had better not get any blood onto his clean sheets. He came back from the bathroom with the first aid box. It took eleven stitches to sew the skin on Sam's arm back together.

As he was cleaning up, Michael noticed something at the back of Sam's head. He reached over and un-tangled a small section of brown slimy weed from the underside of Sam's hair. The older man became so disgusted at the thought of any more of the gross seaweed being on his body, he insisted on having a shower immediately.

"That a good idea?" Stoney asked, indicating the new stitches with a tilt of his head.

Sam made a detour into Michael's kitchen and snapped open a cupboard. He pulled out the plastic wrap and with three quick turns around his bicep, he had his injury covered. He narrowed his eyes at Stoney as he passed by, daring him to say anything more. The man wisely kept any comments to himself.

Fifteen minutes later Sam emerged from the bathroom wearing only his light cotton pants and carrying a towel around his neck.

Sam headed straight to the fridge and pulled out a beer, "Ahh, that's what I needed." He sighed with relief after taking a drink.

He noticed he and Michael were alone; there was no sign of Stoney. "Stoney go home?" Sam asked, privately relieved the man was no longer around.

Michael shook his head, "No, he took the diving gear back to the shop. He said something about a two hour rental. What are you looking for?"

Sam was now pulling open drawers, rifling through them and closing them again.

"You got any aspirin lying around here?" he asked.

Michael stepped past Sam and opened the first drawer he had searched. He pulled out a bottle of Tylenol extra strength. Sam accepted the bottle gratefully and dumped three pills onto his palm. He swallowed them down with a swig of beer.

Michael warned, "I don't think you should be mixing those."

"Mike, I'm tired and I'm sore. I'm not aiming to end up in a coma, but I wouldn't complain about being knocked out for a couple of hours." Sam sat down heavily in the green chair and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He kept tight hold of the beer bottle, balancing it on the arm of the chair.

Michael's anger had dissipated since arriving at the loft and taking care of Sam, but he still had questions. He reached into the fridge and took out a yogurt. "So," Michael leaned his hip against the work table and casually dipped a spoon into his blueberry yogurt, "you were so sure I was fine and didn't need any back up, you went for a swim?"

"That's not the way it went down, Mikey," Sam leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Look brother, I'm sorry. It wasn't my idea. Between the choice of watching you or backing Stoney, you were the less needy." Sam began towel drying his hair, almost as if he were hiding so he wouldn't have to see if Michael accepted his apology or not.

Seeing Sam's distress over the event, Michael walked over and patted his shoulder. "You were right, Sam. Stoney needed the back up more than I did. Did you at least find something useful on your little jaunt?"

Sam shook his head. "Where ever Rita Avnet is, she has never been on that yacht. That yacht was pretty clean, probably used as a tax write off." Michael questioned Sam's theory by raising an eyebrow.

"Bring customers on board, give them just enough expensive alcohol to make a picture of the good life than take them back to the lot to close the deal." Sam took a swig from the beer in his hand, "When they take you out there, grab one of those Sam Adams for me, would ya?"

Michael asked, "You're sure the yacht's not worth a second look?"

Sam took a moment, thinking about the possibility of grabbing one of the hundred dollar beers for himself, "Nah, the only paper-work we'd find out there would be for lobster and imported wine."

"OK, then we're back to needing to get into the dealership. My cover's still good, so we'll try again tomorrow," Michael finished his yogurt.

Sam gave his hair one last rub before wrapping the towel behind his neck, "I'll be there."

"Maybe with Fiona, instead?" Michael smirked.

"Yeah, sure. Whoever you want," Sam agreed quickly, but with some hesitation he had to clarify, "We're not going to tell her about today though, right?"

Michael laughed.

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned bright and clear and Michael was back at the Platinum Performance lot, talking to Steve the salesman about the Pagani.<p>

Fiona leaned back into the passenger seat of the Cadillac, which was parked a little further away than the day before. She wrinkled her nose as she sniffed the air, "Why does it smell like wet garbage in here?"

Sam had the binoculars up and was focused on Michael. "Stoney borrowed the car yesterday. He must`ve parked at a marina."

"Make him get you an air freshener," Fiona grabbed the binoculars from Sam's hands and began watching Michael. "That's a lovely piece of machinery," Fiona commented on the yellow Pagani Michael was running his hands along the soft curves of. "You know Pagani has a limited edition roadster that can reach 100 kilometres an hour in about three seconds? The Zonda Michael is looking at isn't far behind. If Michael takes that car off the lot, I think I should be the one to take it for the test drive."

Sam turned to look curiously at Fiona. "And here I thought you were all about the guns and ammo, Fi."

"A girl needs to be well rounded," She gave Sam's middle a quick pat, "And not in the way you men take that to mean."

"Keep your mitts off the merchandise," Sam pushed Fiona's offending hand back to her side of the car. Fiona smirked and went back to watching Michael through the binoculars.

"How's the arm?" Fiona asked without taking her focus away from Michael.

Sam looked down at his arm. The stitches were hidden away under gauze padding and he was wearing shirt sleeves long enough to cover it all. He squinted at Fiona, gauging what she knew. She was still smiling so she couldn't possibly know that he had actually left Michael without back-up.

"Its fine," he answered. What Fiona needed was a good distraction. "Oh, I've been meaning to thank you for sending Barry my way." He said with just a hint of sarcasm.

Fiona lowered the binoculars and smiled, "Any time, Sam. The man seems to like you. And I know how you'd hate to disappoint a buddy."

Sam watched Fiona from the corner of his eye. "I think Barry can handle a little disappointment. Nobody gets to have everything they want," Sam started fiddling with the volume from Michael's wire.

Fiona slapped Sam's arm to stop him playing with the listening device.

"Ow!' Sam used his other hand to cover the spot where his stitches were. The same spot where Fiona had slapped him.

"If you weren't such a baby, you could hide your injuries better. Besides you deserved that for whatever you and Michael aren't telling me," Fiona glared at him.

Sam took the binoculars back from Fiona, "Check the other wire, make sure it's working. Sounds like it's picking up conversations from the sales office."

Instead of leaning forward in her seat to reach the second listening device, Fiona turned in her seat and reached over to Sam's arm and pinched just below the sleeve. She didn't let go.

"Ow, Fi! OW!" Sam's yell seemed extra loud in the confines of the car. He was swatting at her hand, but she wasn't letting go.

"Tell me what happened with yesterday's surveillance. Your SEAL buddy not living up to those standards you're always going on about?" Fiona gave an extra bit of twist before letting go of Sam's arm.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Fi," Sam growled as he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. There was a small amount of crimson appearing on the gauze. Fiona had popped one or two of the stitches. "Jesus, Fi! Why can't you just ask your questions like everybody else?"

Not looking the least bit contrite, Fiona glared, "Because I expect answers when I ask them, Sam."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Fiona, debating which response he could give that would have Fiona cause him the least amount of pain. Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat, waiting. When Sam still hadn't offered an answer, Fiona decided to make it clear she had figured out enough that lying wasn't an option and the topic wasn't done.

"Yesterday, you and Stoney were out here watching Michael and yet here we are again doing the exact same thing. I accuse you of deserving that injury," she nodded towards his arm, "and you don't argue. Stoney did something and you feel…guilty?" having reached this conclusion, Fiona reached up and began twisting her hair up and off her neck. With a bobby pin she pulled out from some hiding spot Sam hadn't seen, she deftly stuck her hair in place. Fiona was making it clear to Sam she was going to be getting answers one way or another.

Holding his hands up between them, Sam was trying to think of a quick way to diffuse the situation, "Whoa there, sister. Slow down. No need to bring on the heavy artillery. Just let me ask you something first."

Fiona eyed Sam up and down. Probably looking for exploitable soft spots, but as no physical violence had commenced, he assumed he was granted a stay of execution depending on the question.

"What do you think of Stoney?"

If he didn't know Fiona so well, Sam would have missed the quiet exhale of breath and the slight lean back into the seat, all signs she probably wasn't going to proceed with exacting her vengeance.

"He comes across as a guy worried about his fiancée, but I've been thinking about things since breakfast the other day."

Sam nodded his head, showing he was truly listening.

"If he loves Rita so much, where are the pictures? He never pulled out any wallet sized ones or anything. And I didn't see a ring." Fiona paused. "I suppose his job might prevent him from having any visible signs of someone that could be used as leverage against him, but he's been told to stay away. Shouldn't he want to have a reminder of what he's here for?"

Fiona turned in her seat, "He's your buddy, you tell me. Is he the romantic type that would do anything for the woman he loves, or is this about him fixing things to salvage his reputation? Is he the old friend happy to have your help, or is he using you to get what he wants?"

"I don't know, Fi," Sam frowned as he thought about the questions. He could only shrug when he answered, "All I know is he saved my life and I owe him."


	7. Chapter 7

My continued _Thanks_ to Purdy's Pal for reading over this chapter.

_Thank you_ to everyone for reading and any comments you make, however it is that your share them. Your time is appreciated and your thoughts well received.

**Chapter 7**

"Well hello, Zeke," the receptionist, greeted Michael. She licked her lips slowly and ended by pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She fluttered her eyelashes as she looked up into Michael's eyes. "I hoped we'd be seeing you again today." She flipped the ends of her blonde hair over her shoulder. With her elbows perched on the edge of the oak desk, she rested her chin up on folded hands. She reminded Michael of a jungle cat ready to leap onto its prey.

"Well, hello…," Michael squinted a little, trying to read the woman's name tag. She happily leaned closer to him, exposing another half inch of cleavage as she brought her name tag into better focus.

'Shelley Markham - reception / sales trainee'.

"Shelley," Michael finished his greeting with a grin. "I'm waiting for Steve. We're taking the Pagani out for a test spin."

"That's the cutest accent I've ever heard," Shelley gushed. "Where are you from?"

"Kentucky," Michael answered and before Shelley could start asking questions about a hometown he knew nothing about, Michael quickly asked again about Steve.

"Are you sure you want Steve with you during your…spin?" Shelley fluttered her eyelashes again, making Michael wonder if it was an affliction. She opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a single key which she twirled around the tip of her finger. She seemed determined to get passed her 'trainee' designation and was gunning for the top sales spot. Michael was pretty sure she'd get there.

Steve Traynor appeared from one of the back offices in time to hear Shelley's proposal. He quickly grabbed the keys from her finger before joining Michael on the far side of the desk.

"Uh-uh-uh," Steve wagged his finger, "You're not stealing this client from me."

Shelley angrily crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Steve as she huffed, "I'm never going to make it out of reception at this rate. Next time a cute one walks in, he's mine."

Michael smiled awkwardly and refused to add an 'aww, shucks', as he took a few steps back from what was becoming a heated discussion between Shelley and Steve. Using their discussion as a distraction, Michael pulled a small bug from his jacket pocket and dropped it onto the floor. He gave it a gentle kick and watched it slide under a corner of the hardwood desk. It should last until the night cleaning crew came through and then be swept up with all the other detritus that makes its way onto an office floor. Unless someone knew to look for a miniature electronic device, no one would be any the wiser what it was or that it was ever there.

Getting the last word in about co-worker competitiveness, Steve grabbed Michael's elbow and pulled him away from reception. Before they reached the glass doors to the outside lot, Steve threw a jovial arm around Michael's shoulders, "Not to worry, Zeke. Ol' Steve will make sure you find the perfect car for Martha Sue's bragging rights." He led them straight to the Pagani. They both admired the fine lines and craftsmanship of the top-of-the-line performance car before getting in.

After the Pagani, Michael took out a Ferrari Enzo, a Lamborghini Diablo, and a Koenigsegg CCX. It was four o'clock when Michael started on his last test drive of the day. He and Steve were in the silver Bugatti Veyron that Sam had drooled over two days before. As Michael drove past, he was deep in conversation with Steve, distracting him from noticing the people in the Cadillac. Michael had his arm out the window and his hand holding onto the roof line; his middle finger was up for the quick moment of passing, so only Sam would see it. It may have been for the awful cover ID, or perhaps just a way to say there wasn't going to be a second turn in the million dollar car, but it made Sam laugh out loud all the same.

Sam was happy it wasn't him having to come up with the inane comments about farming in Kentucky and how whichever car Michael chose was going to set Booneville, Kentucky on its ear with gossip. He figured he owed Michael at least another trip to that specialty shop where he could pick up another half-dozen Greek yogurts.

Fiona was stuck listening to the secretaries and their back-stabbing, bitchy comments about the rest of the staff. There were enough comments about Zeke Watkins and his 'cute little ass' to keep Fiona simmering for most of the afternoon.

"I should send you in there to break up the tedium." She reached into the back seat and grabbed a bag of Frito's chips.

"You would rather hear conversations regarding my charms?" Sam chuckled.

With a dirty look at Sam, Fiona ripped open the bag with more gusto than was required. Chips went sailing through the air. Some landed on Sam's lap but most fell onto the floor between their feet.

"Hey watch it, Fi," Sam picked up the chips from his legs and dropped them into the plastic bag in the back seat that held the snacks. "I don't drive a garbage truck, ya know."

Fiona made a loud sniffing noise. "You could've fooled me."

The lingering scent of 'wet' inside the Cadillac made Sam frown. "Yeah, that new car smell is definitely gone. But… geesh, Fi, do you mind?" Sam had his right hand floundering along the carpeting looking for stray chips when Fiona moved her leg and nearly stepped on his fingers but moved at the last moment and crushed two chips instead.

"Sorry, Sam," Fiona said, but her smile didn't agree. She took a fresh chip from the bag and bit into it. More crumbs fell around Sam's hand still picking up the other pieces.

"Were you raised in a barn?" he asked, throwing the chip bits into the bottom of the plastic grocery bag.

"I've seen you eat nachos, Sam. You have no right complaining to me," Fiona grabbed another chip before Sam could close the chip bag and shove it into the back seat with the rest of the snacks. Sam just narrowed his eyes at Fiona, not wanting to get into a conversation on personal habits.

Fiona was having more fun with this conversation than the one going on around the reception desk. She had let the earlier conversation about Stoney slide, but decided to pick it up again as she wanted to find out what had gone on. "Did you eat all the good snacks yesterday?" Fiona turned in her seat to lean back on the door panel, getting a better view of Sam twitching in discomfort.

"There wasn't a lot of snacking yesterday," Sam picked up the binoculars and checked over the car lot.

"So what did you two old, war buddies do then?" Fiona asked.

Sam placed the binoculars in his lap and faced Fiona. She looked ready to quiz him for the rest of the day. With a sigh he chose what he considered the lesser of two evils and reached behind the seat. "Here, Fi. Have some chips," and he tossed the bag of snacks onto her lap.

* * *

><p>They regrouped back at the loft and after a quick dinner of take-out, they started making plans. Although Michael despised his cover I.D. of Zeke Watkins, he seemed to be the right character to get people to open up. It took barely any effort on his part to learn that on Wednesdays the lot closed at six o'clock and all the office employees were gone by six thirty. The security for the outside of the building was quite severe, but once past the showroom, the offices were easy targets. Shelley had been a huge help with figuring out how to get past the main alarm. With the belief she would be having a secret rendez-vous with Zeke later in the week, Shelley shared her by-pass code. Fiona thought it extremely convenient that it was also the well endowed girl's phone number.<p>

"That was some quick work there, brother," Sam's laugh became a groan of frustration as he withdrew an empty hand from the refrigerator. "I know I just stocked this baby up a couple of days ago. You becoming a private beer drinker, Mikey?"

"You are such a Neanderthal," Fiona muttered.

Sam raised his eyebrows in curiosity, not sure what brought on this particular bout of grumpiness. "Something bothering you, Fi?" he asked.

"Me?" Fiona asked with innocence. "Why would I be bothered if you and Michael want to drink yourselves through a swarm of shallow women with bad boob-jobs?"

Sam finally understood what was bothering Fiona, and knowing it was a wasted jealousy, couldn't resist the smirk, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Michael had to intervene before Sam dug him a hole he couldn't climb out of. "Fi, if we're still working on this case by Friday, you can see to it that Shelley is too busy to make it to our meeting."

"Really, Michael?" Fiona smiled at the possibilities that swam through her mind. "You say the nicest things sometimes."

Michael smiled back as Fiona took his hand. His free hand brushed gently along her bare arm. Sam coughed to remind them both he was still in the room.

Trying to keep things on track long enough to finish planning, Sam asked, "So how many eyes you think it'll take to get this done tonight?"

Michael turned away from Fiona, but he remained standing close by. His fingers running down a stray lock of Fiona's hair. When he caught Sam smiling at him, he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away.

"Are you trying to tell me you're busy tonight?" Michael asked.

"Me? No, I'm all yours," Sam shook his head. "I cleared my calendar when this job came along. It's a lot easier to reschedule with the ladies when I can promise a quiet interlude of Sammy time, than when the bullets are flying and I'm dodging for cover."

Michael gave a curious look, silently asking Sam who he had in mind. When Sam only fidgeted for an answer, Fiona spoke up, "Stoney getting anxious about his girlfriend?"

Sam gave a nervous little laugh, "Yeah. I've gotten three texts in the last two hours." He held up his phone as if to show the messages.

When Michael looked to be thinking it over, Sam offered, "I promise - no more swims. I'll sit on him and make sure he behaves."

Fiona raised her eyebrows, wanting to ask for clarification on the swimming episode, but remained quiet. It was apparent to her, that this would remain between the two men. She hid the smirk when she realized Stoney could be enticed to be more forthcoming about the little adventure.

With a sigh, Michael relented, "Fine. But you make sure it's clear to him that _he's_ with you and _you're_ with us."

"Sure thing, brother," Sam smiled and relaxed his shoulders, his one tell that he had been a bit worried.

* * *

><p>The sun had set three hours before, but the bright lights on the car lot made it seem as if it were still mid-day. Michael stood with his arms crossed, blocking any potential passers-by from noticing Fiona, who was leaned up against the Charger, taking aim with an M40 sniper rifle.<p>

"Are you able to make the shot, or is hitting that post too difficult?" Michael asked, masking most of his impatience with his teasing.

Fiona let off two rounds in quick succession. With the suppressor on, it appeared as if the lights just went out on their own. She quickly loaded one more cartridge and took out a third light. "How's that, Michael?" she asked with a grin, knowing the burned spy couldn't have done any better.

Michael turned to pick the rifle off the roof and slide it through the open window of his car to hide it in the back seat. Michael was pleased with Fiona's skills, and as the schedule allowed for a few moments, couldn't help but continue his teasing with her, "I'll let Sam know his time record is still safe."

Fiona glared and Michael smiled his toothy smile. Enjoying Michael's relaxed attitude, Fiona decided to play along. "That rifle has another shot ready. I can easily see to it that Sam isn't around to know."

"You'll have to work it out at the range," Michael grinned as he reached through the window and pulled a Mac-11 out from a black bag sitting on the back seat.

"Oh, Michael, you never said it was going to be that kind of evening," Fiona held onto the machine pistol with a look of love in her eye.

"It's not. That's just in case of emergency." Michael noticed the gleam in Fiona's eyes and the possessive way she held the weapon. "Fi?"

Fiona still looked slightly distracted when she finally looked up to meet Michael's gaze. "Yes, Michael?"

"Emergency only," he reminder her as he handed over a smaller hand gun. "This one too."

"I think I may have a different definition of an emergency than you."

Michael narrowed his eyes at her until he decided that she really wouldn't start shooting up the neighbourhood just for the pleasure of using the weapons.

"You had better get going," Fiona pushed on his shoulder to get him started towards the car lot.

Michael nodded agreement and started off across the street at a slow jog. Once he reached the other side, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to check Fiona was still where he left her. The quick wave of her fingers brought a smile to Michael's lips.

As he reached the eight foot chain link fence that was the first line of defence for the super cars, Michael hoped Sam and Stoney had managed their end and shut down the alarm on it. The code Shelley had given him would allow for the main gates to be opened, but their movement would be too hard to conceal from the security cameras there. Tentatively he gave the fence a quick shake. All remained quiet. The sensor had been shut down. He took his jacket and tossed it along the top of the metal fence. Quickly he climbed up and over, his jacket protecting him from the sharp little spikes that ran along the top edge.

Sticking to the shadows caused by the now extinguished lights, Michael made his way towards the office building for Platinum Performance Imports. He had to be extra careful not to set off any of the sensitive car alarms as he went past. Shelley had told him that two night security guards patrolled the grounds, but were known to hang around their booth listening to the sports channel. She recommended bribing them to get through, but Michael would rather they not know he was there at all.

Hiding behind a Ferrari, Michael scanned the area. From the security shack wafted the guards' mutterings over today's game highlights. He watched the cameras aimed at the building's entrance until he noticed their red lights blink out. Fiona was watching through binoculars and was on the phone with Sam. He and Stoney had shut the alarm down. Michael had his lock pick set out before he even reached the glass doors. He could only assume the quiet but distinctive smack was from one of the guards hitting the side of the now blank monitor. Michael had hoped they would be distracted enough not to have noticed the camera fade out for the thirty seconds he needed to undo the lock on the doors. Picking up the pace, Michael worked the pick until he felt the click of the lock. Quickly Michael slipped into the building. When the guard came to the front doors, he gave them a quick rattle and checked that the cameras lights were on and they were still scanning the area. Happy, he headed back to the security shack to continue the debate over the Heat's starting line-up.


	8. Chapter 8

To my friend Purdy's Pal, thank you as always, for your shared time and talents in reading over this chapter.

Have I told you all how much fun I'm having with this story and loving all the wonderful comments you've been sharing? Thank you doesn't seem like enough.

**Chapter 8**

From behind the oak desk, Michael watched the guard check the doors and give the area a quick once-over before he moved on. He let out a sigh of relief. Now, as long as he didn't trigger any of the alarms of the cars inside the showroom, he'd be relatively safe.

With a stealth born from years of practice, Michael made his way toward the offices at the back of the building. He skipped the sales offices and headed directly for the only unmarked door. It had a fingerprint security lock; most definitely Kolpec's private playroom.

Michael snuck back to Shelley's desk and started searching the drawers. It didn't take too long before he found her makeup stash. Borrowing her face powder, Michael then grabbed the scotch tape dispenser from the desk top. Now he only hoped that the efficient cleaning crew didn't extend their work to the small surface of the lock, or his break-in would become much harder to hide.

He quickly made his way back to Kolpec's office. With the utmost care, Michael dabbed a layer of face powder onto the fingerprint scanner. The gods were shining on him tonight; there was one clear print. He then tore a strip of tape from the dispenser and gently applied it on top of the powder. With a steady hand, Michael lifted the print from the scanner. Pulling out a corner of his tucked-in shirt, he wiped the scanner pad clean. He'd have to remember to explain that bit of make-up to Fiona before she asked. Gently he placed the taped print onto the scanner. Using another section of his shirt he wrapped his thumb so his print wouldn't be picked up through the tape. The moment of truth had arrived.

With moderate pressure, Michael pushed down onto the scanner. His heart raced for the few moments it took the miniature computer to process the data input. Either the lock would buzz and open, or bring the security team running. To his ears the lock's buzzing, which seemed to resound throughout the building, was loud enough to alert the two guards just outside the front doors. It was training and years of practise as a spy that kept him from running and hiding. Finally he was rewarded with a little green light and the snick of the lock mechanism opening. After one push and a quick step, Michael was safely inside Kolpec's private sanctum.

Kolpec was apparently a creature who believed in safety before beauty. There were several dented metal file cabinets, their paint faded with age, placed side by side so that they took up one whole wall. Michael played the beam from the small flashlight he pulled from his back pocket across the labels on the drawers. As the only indicators written there were a breakdown of the alphabet, Michael had no idea where to start. There were just too many drawers to start pulling them out willy-nilly like, and hoping a clue to Rita Avnet's whereabouts would appear.

Adding to the dreariness of the space was the lack of natural light. There were no windows to the outside world, only fluorescent lighting. As there was no apparent crack below the door, Michael turned on the overhead light. With a slight buzz, the lights began their slow warm up. The scarred desk that faced the door, while functional, was also not attractive. Michael circled the desk to sit in Kolpec's chair. A quick rapping of his knuckles on the underside of the desk revealed a distinctive, but definitely non wooden, sound. Just to satisfy his curiosity Michael dipped his head down to check out the underside of the desk. He didn't need to fire his gun to assure himself the desk was bulletproof. He guessed that like thieves, there was no honour among Russian mafia groups, and first and foremost, each person looked out for number one.

Hoping that Kolpec didn't have a creative side, and like most people would keep current business near at hand, Michael started searching the desk drawers. The bottom drawer contained several thick files. Michael pulled them out and placed them on the desk to read them in better light. The top couple of files were all full of wind analysis data from areas throughout Siberia. The bottom file was clearly marked 'Avnet Technologies'. Putting this file on top, Michael began to read. Flipping through the topmost sheets, Michael became unhappy. He turned on the desk lamp and pulled out the last few pages that were stapled together to stare at the inked signatures. The signed and dated contract made Michael frown and he breathed in deeply to control his simmering anger. Putting the folder back in order, Michael slipped everything back in place and closed the drawer. He needed to talk to Sam.

Michael waffled with the decision to leave behind a miniature listening device. There was the possibility Stoney could explain everything he had just read in those files. Looking around the office, Michael pulled out a small plastic bag he had safely stored inside his shirt. He needed to choose which of the two devices he had brought along would work best. He dumped them both into the palm of his hand and looked at them and calculated. There was the bug that needed to be hard wired into a power source, like an outlet, but would last as long as they needed to gather information on Kolpec's dealings. Or there was the battery operated bug. It could be placed anywhere but the life of the battery was only about two days. With a sour look at the bottom desk drawer and the files within, Michael slid the battery operatedbug into a crack of the overhead light covering. He hoped to be proven wrong, but knew that just because a guywas once a SEAL didn't mean he became a man like Sam. The next time Kolpec used his office, Michael knew they would prove, one way or another, what kind of man Stoney really was.

Turning off the light, he cracked open the door to peer into the hallway. As soon as Michael opened the door, the definitive sound of gunfire could be heard. Apparently Kolpec's office was soundproof too. More worried about his friends and their situation than his own, Michael raced through the showroom and threw himself into the wall beside the glass entryway doors. Seeing the security booth empty, and now being able to distinguish the gunfire was coming from the back of the building, he pushed through the doors and raced onto the lot.

He knew Fiona was watching the front and would cover him so he wasn't too surprised when he saw the petite woman yelling at him to get down. He was, however, a little caught off guard when she threw a small object over the fence and it rolled into the security booth's open doorway. Eight seconds later the booth exploded with a fiery Kaboom. All the car alarms on the lot began to wail. Michael rose from behind a keening Ferrari, shaking his head and covering his ears, he stayed low as he threaded his way back to the fence.

Fiona met him at the fence line. "Hurry up, Michael! That distraction won't hold the guards off for long."

Michael watched Fiona's lips to help him hear what she was telling him. With a groan he started up the chain-link fence.

Already the guards were shooting blindly through the smoke, hoping for a lucky shot to take down their invaders. Fiona grimaced as a window on the Pagani shattered. It wasn't too close but it seemed more criminal than the blowing up of the guards' home base. The guards were damaging all the lovely vehicles with their blind firing.

Landing lightly, Michael pulled Fiona away from watching the destruction of the luxury cars and they raced towards his Charger.

"What happened?" he asked once they were both sitting in their seats. "Where are Sam and Stoney?"

Fiona looked at the carnage that was now the car lot before turning to face him, "I don't know, Michael. You were only in the building a few minutes when the guards came out from their little cubbyhole with their weapons drawn. They went to the back. I tried calling Sam to warn him, but he never picked up his phone. There was gunfire off and on for a full minute before you even came out from the building."

Michael looked at Fiona's worried face. "Anything else, Fi?"

Fiona looked out the window again, "I'm sure the first two shots were from Sam's gun, but I haven't heard it since."

Michael didn't question Fiona's weapon recognition skills. He could hear sirens approaching and knew they needed to leave. "Call him again," he requested as he peeled away from the curb.

Fiona quickly dialled the familiar number. After the fourth ring it went to voicemail.

"Sam!" Fiona wouldn't allow the sound of worry to enter into her voice, "Call me back as soon as you get this."

She snapped her phone shut and leaned back into the seat, closing her eyes. "I don't understand what happened, Michael. Those guards aren't trained. The lot may be owned by the Russians, but those guards are from a private security company. That makes them minimum wage earning schmoes." After a moment's pause, Fiona turned to Michael and said with a barely contained grimace, "Sam's always had a thing about not shooting the less advantaged."

The corners of Michael's lips twitched. He appreciated Fiona's attempt to alleviate some of the tension. "That's because Sam doesn't shoot civilians. Did you see either of the guards after the shooting started?"

Fiona nodded, "Just after you came running out. They were returning to the front lot. That's when I blew up their little shack."

Michael narrowed his eyes at Fiona's easy way of explaining her devastating actions. "Were you even planning on telling me you had concussion grenades?"

Fiona gave an airy wave of her hand, "Oh, you know, Michael. A girl's got to have her secrets."

When Michael didn't remove his glare from her direction, she added, "Don't give me that look. You should be grateful that I had one with me."

Michael turned back to watching the road and rolled his eyes. Fiona poked him in the shoulder with a finger. Michael focused on the road instead of the ache blossoming from his shoulder. He didn't want to let her know how much that poke hurt. Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. Michael couldn't help but smile too. She already knew.

"Where are we going, Michael?"

"We're just giving the emergency response teams a chance to get things sorted out and then we're going to ask them what they know."

Michael drove around for another fifteen minutes before heading back to the Platinum Performance lot. He parked a block away. From under the passenger seat, Fiona pulled out a non-threatening clipboard. She intended to be very threatening with it. They walked to the site. It wasn't as bad as they expected. There were only two police cars and one fire engine. The security shack was reduced to wafting smoke and splinters. Only the closest cars had blown out windows from the exploding shack, but many more had visible bullet holes and shot out glass.

"See, Michael," Fiona purred, "What I broke could be replaced within a day from any number of home renovation stores for a fraction of the price it'll cost to fix up those cars."

Silently Michael agreed. While Fiona's distraction had a lot more bite, her finesse with explosives contained the damage to the little hut. The guards wore a uniform and a badge, but lacked training in real life situations. Most of their training consisted of radioing head office and calling 9-1-1. To be issued weapons, they would be required to pass at a gun range, but obviously, gun ranges don't have exploding sheds to contend with.

The firemen were packing up. There had been no major fire, just the burst of sparks from the electrical components that had once called the guard's booth home, and these had already gone out. The police were finishing up their reports and closing their notebooks. The very shaken guards were released and told to go home. The insurance company would be in touch. The two men seemed to pale further.

"This should be fun, Michael," Fiona grinned in anticipation.

"Focus, Fi," Michael answered as he started across the street and through the now wide open gate.

Michael headed towards the police officers while Fiona aimed towards the guards who were still sitting in stunned silence.

Michael reached out his hand to the nearest officer. "I'm Brian Fitzpatrick. Is it okay if I take my friend home now?" He aimed his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the two guards. "Looks like the day after D-Day around here. What happened? Are they all right?"

Officer Wilson shook Michael's hand, "Your friend will be fine. A little shaken up from the adventure, but there are no injuries."

Michael whistled, "An adventure?" He eyeballed the Ferrari with its bullet ridden body. "Doesn't look like anything Tom Sawyer would get into. But no injuries you say? Any arrests?"

"Nah," Officer Wilson slid his notebook into his shirt pocket. "Incompetent thieves shot up the power box for the alarm system. When the guards ran the perimeter, they ran off. "

"What about that?" Michael pointed to where the guards' shack once stood.

"When they couldn't get in the thieves threw an explosive into the lot," Officer Wilson snickered, "Guy had lousy aim. Missed all the cars and only got the guards' booth."

"No one got in then? Always knew my friend was good at his job," Michael smiled and waved to the officers as they got into their cruiser, preparing to make their report to headquarters. He knew Sam's friend would be assembling a task force to follow up this incident. Sam would be paid with a free drink, at least, for creating the opening for a fresh police investigation. Michael then headed towards Fiona and the guards. He could see sweat forming on the older guard's brow.

Fiona saw Michael approaching and introduced him to the nervous guards. "Peter Phelps, the head of United Brethren Insurance. This is Albert Thompson," she pointed to the sweating, older man, "and Nick Parsons." Nick fidgeted but couldn't bring himself to look at Michael. "They were just telling me a lovely story."

"If it's anything close to what the police just told me, a story is certainly what it is," Michael growled.

"W..what do you mean?" Albert stammered. "We told the police everything."

Michael glanced at Fiona's clipboard, looking as if he were reading over her notes which were actually doodles of an exploding shed. "Doesn't explain why all the bullet holes are only on one side of the cars. Or what happened to the power box round back. I won't even bring up the shack, yet."

Nick gave a surprised look over to Albert before looking back down at his lap, nervously picking at this thumbnail.

"Look, I'm sticking to my story. I'm eligible for early retirement in six months. You can't prove nothin'," Albert brayed, but a drop of sweat rolled into his left eye and ruined what would otherwise have been a very stern glare as he refused to cooperate.

"You feel the same way, Nick?" Michael asked. "You close enough to retirement, that you're willing to risk jail time and a criminal record?"

Nick's head jolted up. He was only in his late twenties, nowhere close to retiring. Not that age mattered if they were going to be charged. Fear shone from his eyes. "What?"

Even Albert lost some of his confidence. "Jail time? What for?"

Fiona pointed out the damaged vehicles. "You shot up the cars on the lot because you were a part of the ring. When your gang couldn't pull off the heist, you had to make it look like you chased the thieves away."

"That's not what happened," Nick jumped up. Fear finally lighting a fire under him.

"Shut up, you dimwit," Albert pulled Nick's elbow, trying to get him to sit back down.

"No way," Nick brushed Albert off. "We didn't exactly tell the police the truth, but we're no thieves either!"

"Why don't you tell us what really happened?" Fiona asked.

"It started like any usual night, you know?" Nick hesitated, giving a hopeful look to Fiona, begging her to believe him. Fiona remained quiet, letting Nick know she was listening, but wasn't going to fall for any lines.

"Anyway," Nick looked back to his hands nervously. He took a breath and continued, "The monitors were acting kinda funny, so we thought we'd check out the breakers and the power box."

"That is our job, you know," Albert sneered.

"Shooting up luxury cars also part of your job?" Fiona asked.

Nick was shaking his head vigorously. "No. But defending the property from persons with unlawful intentions and preventing any unauthorized departure of the company's assets…" Nick's voice gradually died away when he realized he was quoting from the employee handbook.

"We believe that there were thieves here, Nick" Fiona spoke calmly. "What we're trying to determine is whether or not you were helping them."

"Not!" Nick answered quickly. "When we got to the back of the lot, there were two guys arguing."

"What were they arguing about?" Michael asked.

Nick's voice faltered as he looked straight into Michael's stern face. He refocused on Fiona. "We couldn't hear what they were saying, but one guy sure was mad at the other. He hit him and pulled out a gun."

Fiona's eyes showed mild surprise, but she kept from asking which guy was Sam. Nick took her look as an expression of interest and put his whole body into describing the scene. "This guy was huge! I mean the other guy didn't look like a wilting rose or anything, but that one guy – I could see his muscles in the dark."

"We get it!" Michael interrupted. "What happened with the guy that got knocked down?"

"Uh, yeah," Nick realized the two insurance investigators wanted information not a WWE Smackdown play-by-play. "Well, the other guy, he sorta kicked the big guy down and then he pulled out his own gun and shot out the power box. Weird, huh?"

Fiona and Michael shared a concerned look. "There were a lot more than two bullets fired," Michael pointed out to the car lot.

"How'd you know there was two shots?" Albert peered at Michael, as if making sure his build didn't coincide with either of the two men he had witnessed fighting.

Michael answered patiently, as if explaining to a child, "It would take at least two shots to ensure that the all the breakers overloaded and shut down." He turned back to focus on Nick, who seemed the more cooperative of the two. "Is that everything?"

"Nah, it gets weirder," Nick explained. "These two guys start beating the crap outta each other. When they notice us, the smaller guy yells at us to call the cops."

"What kind of a thief wants us to call the cops?" Albert asked shaking his head. He looked directly into Michael's eyes. "It was a distraction, that's what it was. It was right then that they started shooting at us. I'm not about to die protecting some cars!"

Michael's eyes narrowed, "Both of them were shooting at you?"

Albert nodded but was interrupted by Nick, "No, only Mr. Muscles. He was shooting at everybody. Even the other guy; keeping him pinned down."

Albert didn't appreciate being corrected. "I still ain't dying for any stupid cars. I don't care how much they're worth. There were bullets flying so I grabbed Nick and we hauled ass outta there. We were working our way back to the booth to call the police. That's when the shed blew. There were more of them on this side of the lot and I wasn't about to let them get the drop on me. Nick and I pulled our guns and defended ourselves!"

Nick nodded agreement and sat back down with a sigh. "Scariest thing I've ever lived through."

Michael and Fiona wished they could say the same.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to Purdy's Pal for her read through on this chapter. I'm much obliged.

Thanks to everyone for reading and especially you kind people that have been leaving those lovely reviews. It's all greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 9**

After five minutes of driving in utter silence, Stoney grudgingly admitted, "You almost had me there, Sam."

Stoney couldn`t hide the grimace as he wiped at the still-streaming cut above his eye. He turned to look over the man in the passenger seat, "I underestimated you. You're not the SEAL you once were, but you still got some moves." Stoney watched Sam from the corner of his eye, "What? No comment?"

Sam glared at the man who had cable-tied his hands and forced him into his own car at gunpoint. What could he say? Where he failed, Stoney succeeded. He turned to watch the neighbourhood go by outside his window. He still needed to find a way out of this mess and knowing where he was being taken would certainly help.

Sam had thought about using his bound hands to smash Stoney's head into the side window, but wasn`t sure his body was up to the task. His throbbing ribs may not have been broken; they were possibly cracked, but most definitely bruised and it hurt like hell to breathe. His knuckles were swollen, cracked and bleeding; and his trigger finger was out of joint. After Sam had shot out the power box on the car lot, Stoney had smashed his gun hand into the front end of a Saleen S7 Turbo. He had been trying to pull his finger back into place, but with his hands tied the way they were, he couldn't quite mange it. Sam also knew he had a concussion. Every now and again, his vision would double and it took almost more concentration than he had just to keep his dinner down. Even if he were in tip top shape, Stoney`s left hand holding the Walther PPK resting on his lap, would be faster. However he felt now, it would be so much worse with a bullet bouncing around inside of him.

When he felt the first round of vibrations on the top of his left thigh, Sam worried his concussion was worse than his initial assessment, but he soon realized it was his phone buzzing in his pocket. With his hands tied, there was no way he could reach it without Stoney catching him. He could only hope Mike and Fi would think to track it before Stoney found it and turned it off. He moved slightly to rest his arm over the pocket, to hide any possible movement the phone might be making.

He started talking to the man who had once been a trusted member of his SEAL team, but had now turned on him. "Why'd you do this? This has nothing to do with Avnet Technologies or Rita, does it?"

"You're finally getting it," Stoney laughed. "Rita's an okay broad, but way too flighty for my liking. She's off on some girls' holiday in Europe. Now your friend Fiona; her I could have some fun with."

At that last comment Sam couldn't help but give a quick laugh, "I'd like to see you try. She'd break you like a twig."

Stoney gave Sam a look of disbelief, "That little thing? I can tell she's got spunk, but I'm not afraid of little girls."

Sam sighed, a small smile played across his lips, "I'd like to be the one to tell her you said that."

"I'll be sure to tell her you were thinking of her," Stoney smirked.

Stoney was talking as if Sam were already dying. Not a good sign.

After several more minutes of silent driving, they pulled up to the back side of a decrepit warehouse. Even in the dim light, Sam could see half of the back windows had been smashed out by vandals. Nope, not a good sign at all.

"You know it's all location, location, location." Sam said, looking through his window at the beat up old warehouse before turning back to smile at Stoney. "Now if you had something with a little warmth, added some cozy furniture, your lady-friend wouldn't be off on a holiday without you." He was taking up time, in no rush to leave the relative comfort of his Caddy.

"Oh, but Sam," Stoney looked crestfallen, "All this is for you; every dank corner, every musty storage crate. It's just for you." Then the hard-nosed, Navy SEAL persona returned with a flash. He held his gun pointed at Sam's chest, "Now, get out. No funny business or I'll shoot you and be done with it."

Sam sighed and regretted it as the deep breath hurt. He fumbled with the door controls, but was unable to grasp the handle. He turned his head to grin at Stoney, "How about I just wait here? You go ahead without me."

Stoney cursed as he elbowed his door wide open and made his way out of the driver's seat. Sam felt a bit of pride as he watched Stoney keep one stabilizing hand on the hood of the Caddy as he walked with a heavy limp to the passenger side. Sam kept his smile friendly as Stoney pointed his Walther at the window, aimed directly at his head. It wasn't until Stoney lifted the door handle and started to pull it open that Sam moved.

Sam used his shoulder to smash open the car door. The window hit Stoney's outstretched hand first, deflecting his aim. The bullet that burst from the barrel smashed through the passenger window and left a spray of spider-webbing cracks around a small hole in the windshield. The bulk of the door then collided with Stoney's hip with such force that the man was thrust backwards and he flew off his feet.

Not waiting to see where his captor landed, and no time to pick a direction, Sam leaped from the car and ran. His ribs ached with every step he took, but he raced around the corner of the old warehouse. He made it another thirty feet before he was tackled to the ground; the side of his head being driven into the hard pavement.

Sam's senses were slow to come back online. Even after several blinks, his world had trouble coming back into focus. It was like the scenery was constantly moving in slow motion. His shoulders ached and there was a screaming pain from his arms and wrists. A groan escaped his lips. With a sudden lurch, his shoulders were dropped onto the ground and he had the dawning realization that he was being dragged by his bound hands across the cement floor of the old warehouse.

"If you're finally awake, you can haul your own ass inside," Stoney huffed as he reached awkwardly with his left hand and pulled his Walther from behind his back.

Sam tried to pull his arms back to his sides, but after all the trauma of being yanked and used as leverage to move his unconscious body, he could only move them to the point where his hands settled on his forehead and his elbows were left pointing up toward the ceiling. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

"I've been awake. Trust me when I say: This isn't it," Sam wheezed. It was difficult to draw a decent breath. He still didn't think his ribs were broken, but they sure didn't like him lying on his back with his arms pulled over his head.

"Get up, old man," Stoney waved his weapon, "Or I'll kick your sorry ass."

It took some effort but Sam was able to turn his head to look at Stoney. He managed to pry one eye open. Even with the blurry edges still holding to his vision, he could see that Stoney was barely able to keep himself standing. He was keeping most of his weight off his left side. Stoney held his right arm stiffly across his chest and his wrist was swollen and turning an ugly shade of blue. Sam couldn't tell if the new damage had been caused by the smashing car door or the effort of the football tackle to the pavement, but he managed a small smile. He wished he could add a chuckle. He would have to work up to that level.

"Just give me a minute, will ya? I'm enjoying the view from right here," Sam sighed.

Stoney's patience was at an end, "I said get up!"

"Since you asked so nicely," Sam groaned as he slowly began to roll over onto his front. He needed a few seconds to muster his strength to pull himself onto his elbows and knees. He managed to get his arms pulled back enough that his head was able to rest on top of his bound hands. Stoney grumbled and Sam could sense the man's impatience. "All right already. I'm moving. Don't get your panties in a bunch, geesh."

With as much care as he could co-ordinate, Sam managed to find his feet. With only a slight sway, he stood before Stoney. He glanced down at his hands and noticed a fresh coating of his own blood over the zip tie on his wrists. He made to lift his hands to the side of his head to check the damage, but Stoney stopped him.

"Just hold still. No funny moves," Stoney had careful aim and was watching him closely.

Sam knew he should leave any wounds alone, but being told he wasn't allowed to touch them made him want to all the more. It also made the throbbing in his head increase its beat.

"Time to move, Commander Axe," Stoney sneered.

Sam remained calm, "You can be the Lewis to my Clark, and tell me which way to go."

Stoney eyed Sam warily, "You planning on pushing me down a rabbit hole?"

"What?" Sam was momentarily confused. He managed a quick shake of his head before dizziness set in, "No, that's Lewis Carroll you're thinking about."

Stoney chose to ignore his captive and indicated with the tip of his gun the direction he wanted Sam to move. Sam kept talking as he slowly followed Stoney's order. He wasn't sure what he could do, but it was ingrained in him to keep up the distraction until he thought of a way out of his predicament.

"Lewis Carroll wrote Alice in Wonderland. So at least I know you read a book or two," Sam looked casually over his shoulder to see if he was getting any reaction at all. Stoney was limping behind at a safe distance, his face no longer showing the impatience of before.

"Turn around. Keep walking," Stoney instructed.

He wasn't told to shut up, so Sam kept talking. "Lewis and Clark led an expedition over the Rocky Mountains, into Oregon. They were looking for the Northwest Passage. They had a fifteen year old Indian guide named Sacagawea. This ringing any bells?"

"Stop there," Stoney indicated a rust covered pillar on the far side of an open space.

Sam stopped beside the indicated pillar, and looked around, taking in his surroundings. They were deep inside the warehouse. There was a strong smell of mould and decay. He could see old packing crates and an abandoned fork lift, but they weren't close enough for him to reach and put to any good use. They were surrounded by makeshift aisles of long ago forgotten stored items.

Stoney stepped up from behind and ordered him to turn around. Once Sam was facing him, he could see a long, sharp blade in Stoney's hand.

"Hey, wait a minute," Sam stuttered as the well-muscled man moved in with a slash and then shoved Sam's shoulder into the pillar.

"Arms around the pillar," Stoney barked.

Sam realized the zip tie had been cut from his wrists, but he had been so surprised by the manoeuvre that he had failed to act and was now face-to-rust with the support beam. Using the elbow of his bad hand, Stoney smacked Sam upside the head. It wasn't enough to knock him out, but there was enough force that Sam could see blood stuck to the pillar where his head had hit. It left him dazed enough that Stoney was able to grab a wrist and pull it to the far side of the pillar.

With a rough kick to Sam's shin, Stoney ordered, "Now the other one."

Not able to think of an immediate way out of this, Sam had no choice but to do as ordered. He was now hugging the filthy beam, his hands meeting at the far side where they were promptly duct taped together.

"Sorry," Stoney apologized with what Sam recognized as complete insincerity, "But I'm all out of cable ties. Just think of it as really sticky bandages for those cuts you earned when I pulled your butt in here."

"Why don't you just tell me what this is all about," Sam asked.

"You remember that mission into El Salvador?" Stoney reminded him of the very event that Sam used to involve his best friends in this job.

"Yeah?" Sam answered with a curious lift of one eyebrow.

"You remember how you almost go Pete killed? Yelling out that you had found cover, but then you pushed him into that bullet?"

"What?" Sam felt his ire rising. "I was trying to save our lives. Yours included."

"Save my life? That's rich. You put my life in danger!" Stoney thundered. "I had a meeting with a man on that squad. He was scheduled to take me to Captain Regalado."

Sam was dumbstruck, "The man who became The Butcher in the Salvadoran revolutionary war? You had a meeting with him?"

"He was just a business man, looking for a business partner. But you ruined that," Stoney's anger had brought him back to Sam's side. He held the blade up to Sam's cheek. Sam could see the anger battling within the man's eyes. Stoney took a deep breath and as he brought his emotions under control, he slowly withdrew the knife.

Sam let go the breath he had been holding. "How were you hoping to make it to that meeting?" Sam asked, his anger returning. "You were a U.S. Navy SEAL on a mission. That's not something you can just walk out on."

Stoney chuckled, "It is if you're the sole survivor of an ambush."

Sam felt his blood boiling in a barely contained rage. "You were planning on murdering those men? They were your teammates, your buddies. You trained with them, ate with them, fought beside them. We watched out for each other."

"It was _mission critical_ that they died," Stoney threw out the words of command as if they meant something more than human life. He actually chuckled when he added, "Actually, I was most looking forward to seeing you to die."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He suddenly felt so tired. How could he have missed this going on? His forehead rested on the rough metal of the pillar. The coolness of the metal seeped into his skin. It brought a small amount of relief to the pain emanating from his cuts and bruises, but did nothing for the pain now growing in his chest.

"But you left with Virgil and Mack after Pete was shot." Sam tried to understand; knowing that he never would.

"Of course I did," Stoney explained, "Once you had taken out two of Regalado's men, I didn't believe him to be in a 'business partnership' kind of mood any more. I was in just as much danger as you were by then."

"You left Pete and me in that church, knowing YOU were the cause of everything?"

Stoney laughed, "Actually, that bullet was meant for you, but you pushed Pete around that corner first. You always did have a self sacrificing way about you. Too bad it didn't work, hmm?"

"You shot Pete?" His rage quickly returning, Sam pulled hard at his binds; desperate to free himself, needing to get his hands on the monster before him. He didn't feel the pain of the tape peeling his skin and barely-healed cuts.

With a gleeful smirk, Stoney pulled out his gun from his back where he had it tucked away, "You just relax. We'll end this soon enough."

Sam simmered, "You came all the way to Miami to end this? How many years later?"

Stoney laughed again, "Oh no, no, no. Don`t let that ego of yours get the better of you. Once I realized you lived in this town, you became a convenient prop to be used."

"What?" Sam was confused again.

"_Captain_ Regalado is now _General_ Regalado, and he needs a new American distribution man. We were meeting in Miami to finalize our new partnership. I just happened to see you a couple of days before I 'ran' into you." Stoney made air quotes with his fingers and winced when he moved his bad wrist. Sam felt no satisfaction over the injury he had caused, he was too angry.

"The General," Stoney continued, "was quite happy to add your death as the deal breaker for our partnership. Apparently you cost him other deals and interrupted other arrangements during your long, illustrious career. Not very nice, Sam." Stoney tsk, tsked as he waved a finger from his good hand in Sam's face.

"I wish I had known," Sam said, "I would have enjoyed those missions all that much more. But what about Avnet Technologies. How does that fit in?"

"I told you," Stoney answered, "Rita really is a lovely girl. Her father paid me a lot of money to stay away from her. For some reason, he just doesn't like me around his daughter."

"Can't imagine why that would be," Sam remarked sarcastically.

Stoney patted Sam's shoulder, "I'll let that slide, seeing as how I`ll be killing you shortly, and all."

Stoney walked around Sam and the pillar, ensuring that Sam hadn't pulled loose. "I just thought it somewhat poetic that you would mess up his contract with the Russians while I was getting things in place with the General." Stoney seemed pleased with the bonds. "I do have to say, I was surprised that you had found out so much about Kolpec in such a short time. I had planned to have the Russians take your friends out at one of those warehouses from that list I had given you. But you screwed that up. Then I thought I'd get Kolpec to take Michael and Fiona out at the car lot. And AGAIN you sabotage my plans."

Stoney gave Sam a grudging look of respect, "Nice shooting by the way. Taking out that power box is the only thing that stopped the silent alarm call to the Russians. If that alarm went through to Kolpec, he would have taken care of things very differently than the police."

"Had I realized then the depth of your treachery, I would have changed my target," Sam snarled.

Stoney laughed. "Then you would have watched your friends die at the hands of the Russians. As it is, the best they can hope for is a little time in jail."

"You underestimate my friends," Sam said.

"Your team of misfits?" Stoney laughed again. "Mike's what? Ex-military something or other? And that girl, Fiona? She agreed to do the job for a pair of shoes, for Christ's sake. You've come down pretty far, Sam my boy."

"I swear, I'm gonna tell Fi everything you've said about her," Sam felt better with the thought of Fiona's reaction running through his mind

"In another thirty minutes, you'll be telling her through a Ouija board," Stoney growled; his patience now at an end. "I've waited for this moment for a long time." Stoney stepped closer and leaned in to whisper directly into Sam's ear. "And I have _hated_ you that whole time."

"You know," Sam muttered as Stoney moved away, "That's the kind of thing you should tell a guy before he agrees to help you."


	10. Chapter 10

Well, here it is. The final chapter. It's been a slice! Thank you doesn't seem to cover all I want to say, but they are the only words I've got. So, Thank You to all of you dear readers. My deepest gratitude to Purdy's Pal and UnwittingCatalyst who rose high above the call of duty, and read parts of this over and offered helpful insights to make it better.

**Chapter 10**

Stoney backed a few paces away from his captive. A small smile played across his lips as he listened to Sam mutter curses about the flakes of rust rubbing into his favourite Hawaiian shirt.

"Don't fret. You'll have worse stains soon," Stoney sneered.

Sam didn't like what was being implied or that smarmy grin on the other man's face. "Don't let me keep you, if you have better things to do."

"Better than this? Hardly," Stoney laughed. "But I do have to meet my new partner. He wanted to stop by to say _so long_."

"How very friendly," Sam said. "That's how rumours get started. We wouldn't want to spoil the General's image."

"Speaking of images," Stoney stepped closer again. "You have a reputation of pulling rabbits out of your ass."

With a sinking feeling, Sam closed his eyes as Stoney began to search through his pockets.

Pulling out Sam's phone, Stoney smiled smugly, "Wouldn't want you getting any funny ideas." He threw the device onto the cement floor with such force pieces went flying in every direction.

"Your mother should have told you to be more careful with other people's things," Sam admonished. "Now how is my agent ever going to reach me? I was waiting to hear if I got that spot in the commercial."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Stoney who stared right back. This was one contest Sam would rather be damned than lose. Stoney growled with frustration as he took a step away, but a cruel smile soon appeared.

"I'm guessing you didn't want me to find your phone," Stoney smirked. "Not that it would have done you any good. There's no one available out there to come to your rescue."

Sam was afraid that Stoney might be right, but he gave a dimpled grin. "But you recognize that I have friends out there, who would come if I called. That's more than you've got," Sam pointed out smugly

Stoney glared again but didn't reply. He turned away in a huff.

"Don't go away mad," Sam pleaded, but then added mockingly, "Just go away."

With two quick steps, Stoney returned to Sam's side and with his good hand he gave Sam a powerful shot to the ribs.

Sam knew it would be coming as soon as he started his taunt, but that wasn't enough to prepare his already abused ribs for another round of pain. Leaning into the pillar was the only way he could keep himself standing as he fought to regain his breath.

Turning away, Stoney nodded with satisfaction as he hobbled out of view. Sam could only assume Stoney was going to wait by the entrance for the arrival of the Salvadoran general. This whole situation just kept spiralling out of his control, but he knew better than to curse himself with the false reassurance of 'it can't get any worse than this'. He knew from experience it could, in fact, be much worse. And _this_ time was fast approaching one of _those_ times.

Ignoring the protests from his body, Sam tested the tape that bound his hands together. He could feel a little bit of play and guessed his earlier burst of anger had accomplished something after all. Using the sensitive skin on his wrists, Sam felt along the corners of the pillar. He moved slowly and with great care. The last thing he needed was to slice open a vein. Further up, along the corner of the beam, he found a few inches where the seam had split; leaving a short, but sharp protruding edge.

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage to slow his racing heart beat, Sam leaned into the pillar to give his hands as much free room to move as possible. He had to stretch slightly further than his ribs were comfortable with, but comfort was highly over-rated anyway; at least when compared to the discomfort of dying. With slow, steady strokes Sam rubbed the duct tape over the broken seam.

It was amazing what a little desperation could do for a person's stamina. Five minutes ago, it was all Sam could do to remain standing; now all he could think about was getting loose in time to make a mad dash across the open space to hide amongst the abandoned crates and forgotten storage shelves. Not that running away was his ultimate goal. Something had to be done about Stoney, and now, apparently, the General as well. If only he had listened to his mother, he'd have gone into dentistry. Sam was willing to bet that dentists never had to wonder if their next patient was really a Salvadoran warlord out for revenge.

He was so deep into his thoughts that it took his hands falling exhausted to his side before he realized he was free. Just in time too, as he heard voices making their way through the maze of bins and boxes toward him. Sam was already two rows of stacked packing crates away by the time Stoney entered the cleared area.

* * *

><p>"What the hell?" Stoney thundered. There were only a few small raggedy shreds of duct tape clinging to the corner of the pillar and the odd smattering of blood to indicate that anyone had been bound to the support beam.<p>

General Regalado stepped past the dumbfounded Stoney and took in the sight before him. He didn't utter a word, just snapped his fingers. Half his men jumped to do his bidding and set off down one side of the warehouse. With a second snap the remaining three men crept away to check out the other side.

"You disappoint me, Ginger," the General said with little emotion.

Stoney was struck with fear as he looked into the black eyes of the man he planned on making his partner.

"He was right here. I only left him for a moment to meet you," he stuttered through his excuse.

"Then you best hope he is returned, or you'll be taking his place," General Regalado threatened without ever raising his voice.

Stoney knew the General didn't make empty threats. His life was in danger _again_ because of that despised man. "I said I'd bring him to you, General, and I will." Stoney pulled his gun and limped painfully into the surrounding stacks.

* * *

><p>With the condition he was in, there was no way Sam could take on his twelve year old paper-boy much less the well-paid henchmen travelling with the General. He had to come up with another way to reduce the numbers of the bad guys looking for him.<p>

Taking stock of the crates and bins on the shelves around him, Sam started pulling on the end of a loose piece of twine sticking out from between two boxes. He found a few more lengths and managed to knot them together to make one long rope. There were several empty cardboard boxes of different sizes lying about. He arranged the boxes in a mish-mash pile in the centre of the aisle with the twine rope looped around a half-used can of yellow paint hidden underneath. The ends of the rope he trailed through shelved items on either side of the aisle. He tied each end to separate small pieces of broken lumber that he found laying on the ground. Hastily arranging piles on each side of the aisle, he did the best he could to ensure a substantial amount of crap would tumble down when the rope was pulled taut. He smiled at his handy work. Other than taking precautions to not leave tell-tale bloody marks on obvious surfaces, he had worked quickly and had set this booby-trap up in only a matter of minutes.

"That'll work," Sam smiled as he lumbered off, heading down the aisle and around the corner, away from the sound of on-coming footsteps.

The problem with old warehouses, Sam decided after by-passing two more aisles, was that they echoed. He couldn't be sure if those noises were heading this direction from down that aisle, or coming from this aisle and heading down that direction. He did know he shouldn't be standing here trying to figure it out. He chose a third row and went that way.

Sam made his way along a number of rows and aisles; his choices based on softly heard footfalls and directions that led him back the way Stoney had directed him in. He had thought about heading towards the back of the warehouse and searching for a possible exit there, but didn't want to chance finding no doorway and having to retrace his steps. He was tiring quickly and needed to get out soon.

He swore under his breath when the path he chose led him to a haphazard pile of stacked cardboard boxes between the shelves in front of him. Had he seriously been going in circles? There wasn't much light and his head was ringing from concussion, but his instincts had never let him down before. If he were any other man he'd sit down and cry. OK, not actually _cry_, but throw his hands up in frustration certainly.

As he stared at that cursed pile of boxes, two of the General's men approached from the other side. Sam had been so distracted he hadn't even heard them coming. They both had their 9mm pistols aimed at Sam's chest. One spoke in clipped Spanish and waved his gun upwards. Sam didn't have to be a linguist expert to know what that meant. Slowly he raised his arms up and offered a friendly smile.

"Hey guys," Sam took two small steps backwards. "No weapons, see?" He held his hands in clear view of the Salvadorans and took another two steps back.

The same man that spoke before, snarled another order as he took aim directly at Sam's heart.

"Stop. Yep, got that," Sam continued to smile but held his feet still. His arms were aching again from being held in this position.

The second henchman stepped up to the boxes blocking their path, he spoke to his partner as his gun gestured at the blockage.

The snarly man answered and forcibly waved with his free hand at the obstacle.

"Understood that, too," Sam took another small step away but stopped when the attention of the guard was again focused on him. Sam placed the smile back on his face.

The second guard kicked the boxes out of the path. There was a shout of pain when his foot connected with the hidden half-cinderblock that was at the bottom of the pile. Sam watched as a wire was pulled tight and moments later a pile of heavy debris, including the other half of the cinderblock tied at the end of the wire, fell from high up on the shelves. Both Salvadorans were knocked to the ground and covered with the array of abandoned warehouse rubbish. Neither one would be getting up any time soon.

Sam dropped to his knees to search for the now buried line of wire to tie these two up. He knew he didn't have a lot of time before someone came to investigate the noise. The sound of a bullet being chambered behind him made Sam twist in that direction. Before he could even utter a groan on behalf of his sore ribs, a tower of boxes and crates rained down on the third guard.

Sam sat heavily on the pile of dislodged items that was beneath him; not caring if there were any appendages from the two Salvadoran men stuck within it.

Sam spoke to the shadow that rounded the aisle, "Thanks, Mikey."

It was only three or four steps before Michael's image became clear in the fading light. He bent down to check the last guard was still alive. Determining that he was, Michael pulled a cable tie from his back pocket and attached the man's wrists to a bar of metal shelving.

"How'd you know it was me?" Michael asked as he came closer to Sam who seemed to be wincing with every indrawn breath. Michael looked his friend over as he pulled out two more ties. "You okay?"

"Better now," Sam sighed. He then indicated the pile he was sitting on with a wave of his hand. "There's another one of these set up five rows over."

Michael nodded his understanding. There's something to be said for team members that have spent time together on operations around the globe. Their shared experiences make use of short explanations.

"Where's Fi?" Sam asked.

Michael smiled as he stepped away from the now trussed up henchmen. "She's setting up her own greeting for your friends."

Sam returned the smile, "Glad to hear it. This show could use a little of Tinkerbell's attention."

"Fiona would be happy to hear you say that," Michael offered a hand to help Sam up, which he gratefully accepted. He didn't even complain when Michael placed a steadying hand on his shoulder once he was standing again.

"Are you going to make it out of here on your own two feet?" Michael asked, a little worry seeping into his voice.

"You offering to carry me?" Sam asked, his trademark grin helping to alleviate some of Michael's fears.

"Only if you want to pay for my Chiropractic exams for the next two years," Michael teased back, but wrapped a strong arm under his friend's shoulders. As happy as he was to have found his missing friend, they really needed to get moving away from this spot.

"Where we goin'?" Sam asked.

"We're meeting Fiona along the back wall in five minutes."

"Of course we are," Sam replied. Together they made their way towards the rendez-vous point.

* * *

><p>Michael was helping Sam to settle onto the hard concrete floor when Fiona rounded the corner.<p>

"Where were you Michael?" she huffed. "I went searching when you didn't show up on time."

"It took us a little longer than expected," Michael stepped to the side so Fiona could see behind him.

"Hey, Fi." Sam offered a half hearted wave from his spot on the floor. His head leaned back against the warped wall behind him.

"Oh my God, Sam!" Fiona crouched down to get the full effect of the battered man seated before her.

With a touch Sam had always suspected her capable of, but had never experienced from her before, Fiona softly cradled his chin and turned his head so she could see the damage done to the side of his face.

"I know you think scars attract women, Sam, but this is ridiculous," she admonished gently as she next examined both his wrists.

"I'll live," Sam said, happy that it was now probably true.

Fiona stood up and with hands on her hips, "Of course you'll live! I've seen worse paper cuts." She turned her back on Sam and spoke to Michael, "Everything is ready. One of my little surprises may have been set off already. I think we can count the bad guys down by one."

Michael's head bobbed as he did a quick tally, "A total of four, not bad."

Fiona huffed slightly, making Sam smile. He knew she wouldn't like being outdone.

Fiona looked like she might kick the smile off Sam's face but instead she insisted, "We should leave. Now." Suiting action to words, she quickly walked away, heading down the aisle.

"I always knew she had a soft spot for me," Sam groaned as he, again, accepted Michael's hand in getting up off the floor.

"I wouldn't say that in front of her," Michael warned. "She's might just shoot you to prevent that rumour from getting around."

"Aww, Mikey, everyone likes me. Even psychopathic ex-IRA operatives," Sam leaned on Michael as they began to follow the path Fiona took.

"How about lying, ex-Navy SEAL buddies?"

"No," Sam answered firmly. "Slimy, conniving, traitorous bums don't care for me much."

Michael and Sam were only a few feet from the rear door when Fiona, for the second time that night, yelled for Michael to get down.

From a waiting bag, Fiona had pulled out the Mac 11 Michael had given her back at the car lot. As soon as Michael and Sam fell to the floor, Fiona began shooting off automatic rounds over their heads. The sounds of cascading boxes followed by crashing shelving units had Michael pulling Sam up and dashing for the exit before the unit beside them fell on top and smothered them. Fiona was standing at the side of the door making room for the two men to run past as she continued to provide cover. Michael pulled her out of the way as he slammed the door closed. A convenient two-by-four was wedged under the door handle to keep the door from opening.

"One of those men had snuck up behind you," she started, but Michael held up a hand to stop her.

"No need to explain, Fi. I'm just glad you finally got to use the new toy."

Fiona smiled in return. "We should check the front of the building. We don't want any of our guests leaving before the police arrive."

"You called the cops?" Sam asked, holding an arm across his abused ribs.

"Of course we did," Fiona answered as she began to walk around to the main entrance of the abandoned building. "We wouldn't want the gang behind the shoot-out at Platinum Performance Imports to get away, would we?"

"I guess not," Sam said, growing a little tired of always talking to Fiona's retreating form. He then indicated with a wave of his hand for Michael to hurry after the woman. "You had better keep up with her, or all that'll be left is a smouldering crater. Don't worry, I'm right behind you."

By the time Sam finally caught up to his friends at the main entrance, Fiona was holding a little black box with an antenna protruding from the top. He could see the gleam in her eye as she checked his position before pushing the detonator button. There was a far off explosion followed by a distinctive 'foomp' as the far side of the decrepit building crashed in on itself.

"Another one, Fi?" Michael stared down at the petite woman beside him. "The police would like to find someone they could arrest."

Fiona shrugged her shoulders, "If they were smart, they would have been rushing to get out to their vehicles and no-where near that part of the building. Besides, all those rows of storage should have provided enough protection to keep their insides from being flattened."

Too late to do anything about it, Michael sighed in resignation. His attention was drawn to the blasted -open doorway where the sound of stumbling, shuffling feet could be heard coming their way. Pointing his gun at the centre of the door, Michael waited as the sounds drew closer.

Fiona stood in front of Sam protecting the unarmed man with her body and drawn weapon. Thankfully, it didn't take much effort on Sam's part to see over the top of her head.

Presently Stoney came stumbling out from the dusty entrance. He had thin streams of blood running from both his ears and he was covered with a film of grey dust. He stopped short when he saw the group of three before him.

"No," was all he could muster when he looked into the angry eyes of Sam Axe.

Sam stepped around Fiona when he realized that it was Stoney coming out and marched up to the dazed man. Sam stopped directly in Stoney's path without so much as a cursory glance to check if there were any hidden weapons.

"You bastard," Sam muttered and then without any warning drew back his arm and let go with as strong a left hook as he could muster. It was enough to send the traitor reeling into the still vibrating warehouse wall.

Michael had to step between the two men to stop Sam from continuing to pummel Stoney with his quickly waning strength.

"He's down, Sam. He's down," Michael kept repeating until Sam finally heard him and stepped back.

"You don't understand, Mike," Sam had a look of unadulterated hatred burning in his eyes that almost unnerved Michael. "He was meeting with a Salvadoran general. They were planning on starting up a new line for drugs to enter the U.S. Do you know how many kids he would have killed with that stuff?"

"I know," Michael used words to reassure his friend. "We've stopped him. None of that is going to happen now."

"He was going to have you and Fi killed by the Russians at that car lot," Sam continued.

This Michael had already figured out. "I know, Sam," he repeated.

Stoney began to stir. Fiona stepped closer to keep him covered with her weapon, but she continued to listen to her friend's ramblings.

"He shot Pete,"

"I meant to do so much more," Stoney mumbled through the dust in his mouth. Obviously, he was with it enough to have heard Sam through his damaged ear drums. The smile he aimed directly at his old commander made Fiona load a bullet into the chamber of her Sig P228 and take careful aim at the center of his forehead. Stoney turned his snakelike, bloody grin onto Fiona, showing he wasn't afraid of her.

"He called you a little girl, Fi," Sam prodded from the sidelines.

Stoney rolled his eyes at the implied threat, so he missed the glaring look Fiona threw at him. He was completely caught off guard when a bullet entered the wall mere inches from his head. When Sam gave a confirming smile and nod of his head, Fiona spun her leg, placing a well aimed kick with her wedge-heeled sandal to the surprised man's temple. He lost consciousness immediately.

"He say anything else, Sam?" Fiona asked placing the gun into the back of her waistband.

With a gratified smile, Sam answered, "Nope, that about covers it, Fi."

"What about the others inside? Who are they?" Michael asked, bringing the topic back to the matter at hand.

Sam sighed, "I can only assume they're part of a Salvadoran death squad, from General Regalado's army. That's who Stoney originally had meetings scheduled with. You remember that story I told you? About Pete?"

At Michael's nod, Sam continued, "That was when Stoney planned to murder the whole SEAL team; to keep his meeting with The Butcher of the Salvadoran Revolution."

"What?" Fiona was more than surprised.

"Tonight, they were renegotiating their old deal. Apparently, in the day, several of my missions got into the General's way and my death tonight was supposed to be the clincher," Sam sounded more bewildered than upset.

Michael placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, but Fiona's anger had only grown. She reached into the small bag she kept strapped to her waist and pulled out her final concussion grenade. All she had to do was toss it into the main door of the warehouse, and the likelihood that any rescue workers would get through to discover the men trapped within would be greatly reduced.

"Fiona," Michael warned, "That would be wrong."

Fiona glared at Michael, not pleased to have her thoughts so clearly read. "Wrong is a concept dependant on witnesses, Michael."

"Don't do it, Fi," Sam quietly requested. At the frustrated look that crossed Fiona's features, Sam added, "Let them stand trial for all the heinous crimes they've committed and be accountable to all the families they've torn apart."

Fiona dropped her head but as she hid the small package back into the many folds of her bag, she offered a sad smile, "You're too soft and shouldn't be allowed out on your own, Sam."

The edges of Sam's mouth crinkled up in a small, grateful smile.

In the distance they could hear the sound of multiple sirens.

"Time to go," Michael called to his friends. "Come on, Sam. We may have to call agents Lane and Harris, just to make sure the right alphabet groupings get involved with this one."

With a glance over her shoulder, Fiona added, "You may have to tell them that Stoney…"

"Ginger," Sam interrupted.

Fiona nodded her understanding, "That Ginger stole your car after…" she looked her friend over one more time, "a disagreement. It doesn't look like it's in any drivable condition."

Sam managed a smirk, "They'll be happy with the bigger fish to fry."

Michael gently wrapped a steadying arm around his friend's shoulders. "I'll take you back to the loft for the night."

"Aw, Mike," Sam whined. "It's a losing battle with that one spring in the centre of that old couch. I'll never find a comfortable spot to sleep. Why can't you just take me home? I've got this nice comfy bed; no weird objects trying to take out my kidneys."

From Michael's other side, Fiona sighed out her irritation with men.

The corners of Michael's lips turned up, the beginnings of a thankful smile. "You've got a concussion. It's either battle the spring in my couch, or I'll drop you off at my mom's so she can keep an eye on you."

"Madeline would be glad to take you in," Fiona gave a shark-like smile. "You could dust off her cigarette ashes from that plate of cookies she's had in the cupboard for the last two years. And I'm sure she's had that ant infestation taken care of."

Sam raised the eyebrow of one battle-weary eye at his friends. "When you put it that way…"

Michael opened the door to the passenger side of the Charger. Fiona crawled through to the back seat and Michael waited patiently to see if his friend needed a hand settling in, but Sam managed with only a muffled groan or two.

As Michael closed the door, he offered, "Maybe tomorrow we can convince Fi to tell us where she hid the rest of your stock of beer."

"I'll exchange the location of the beer for the swimming story," Fiona sing-songed through the open window. Sam let out a low groan that had nothing to do with his current bodily pains. Michael opened the driver's side door and slid in, beaming his full toothy smile.

- FIN -


End file.
